When Two Giraffes Love Each Other Very Much...

My more devoted fans are probably already up on the big developments of my life, but as most of them are too busy being imaginary to effectively spread the word, I wanted to let the general public know that I am officially engaged!  I hadn't told much of anyone about my plans leading up to the proposal itself, partly because that would have required talking to them, which I typically try to avoid at all cost.  I tipped off a couple people who were helping out with ring shopping, but only because my sudden, inexplicable interest in flashy jewelry probably would have either led them to suspect my true intentions, or to assume that I had landed the leading role in a 70s pimp film.  But at the end of the day, I didn't want to tell any more people than necessary because I felt like it was a matter between me and my fiancée, so it just didn't feel right that she'd be the last person to know.  I know that traditionally you're supposed to ask permission, or give your friends one last chance to tell you what a horrible decision you're making if you marry that crazy bitch.  But like anyone else in this situation, I was only going to heed other people's advice if they told me what I wanted to hear, so why not go ahead and take it as read, and spare us all the awkward backtracking that may need to happen later?All kidding aside, I'm very happy with my decision.  And it turns out the planning and proposal was all much easier than simply adjusting to the use of the word "fiancée" in day to day conversation.  And I don't just mean the knee-jerk habit you get after referring to someone as your "girlfriend" for a few years.  Like remembering what year to write on your checks on January 2nd, it's always a process to break the muscle memory, but you get used to it after a few months.  More importantly, though, when you first give your significant other their promotion, it's hard to say "I have a fiancée" without feeling like you're bragging.  Words like "girlfriend" or "wife" just don't carry the same weight because all they do is suggest that a relationship exists.  They don't say anything about the state of the relationship itself.  As we all know, someone accepting the position of "girlfriend" one minute doesn't mean that she's going to opt to renew her contract the next. And we've all seen those sad old married couples who hate each other so much now that you can't quite fathom what they might have seen in each other in the first place.

"Fiancée," on the other hand, is an inherently positive, hopeful relationship status.  If you're only marrying someone because you knocked them up, you're usually too busy with apologies, paternity tests, and trying to remove her father's shotgun from your back to bother advertising the engagement phase.  So when you tell someone that you have a girlfriend, you're not saying much more than, "Yep, that's still going on."  But when you say you have a fiancée, you're saying something more like, "This is going so well and we're both so deliriously happy together that we're planning a big party, just to make sure that all of our friends and family acknowledge our superior breed of love."  And it's hard to follow up that kind of proclamation with, "so...what's new with you?"As weird as it feels to say it, though, I'm very happy to have a fiancée, and I feel good about the future prospects of our relationship.  But in all honesty, I have to admit that I did feel a tiny bit of hesitation about the idea of proposing.  It wasn't a big moment, but it was there.  And it wasn't for the stereotypical reason that guys are supposed to be afraid of commitment, or obsessed with "keeping their options open."  Men in general have a bad habit of forgetting how hard it was to get one woman to like them in the first place, so when a good thing finally does come along, they want to hold off on committing, just on the off chance that there's someone better out there, waiting patiently at a bar for what her increasingly lowered expectations are rounding up to "Prince Charming," based solely on his ability to scrape together enough change to buy her a few cocktails.

But that's really not me.  I'm both too much of a romantic to think that there could be anyone better than the woman I love, and I'm too self-deprecating to think that even if there was such a woman, that she could be persuaded of my dubious charms.  So I'm not afraid of commitment because I'm madly in love with a wonderful woman, and I'm amazed that whatever leprechaun trickery I used to snag her hasn't worn off by now.  Like I said, hopeless romantic.

But again, I did have a brief moment of hesitation somewhere in the back of my mind, but for another reason all together:  this wasn't the first time I'd thought of proposing to someone.  Many years ago, I actually wanted to marry my first girlfriend.  The only reason that I didn't ask was that I was reasonably certain that she'd say no.  Being young and foolish, I had the wherewithal to realize that she didn't want to be with me forever, but not to recognize that this represented a problem in our relationship.  Instead, I developed a way of looking at our relationship that could be boiled down to, "well, she doesn't love me, but I think we can work around that." I’m being a bit glib, of course, as the wounds from this relationship never fully healed and the only salve that reliably dulls them is snark. But in all honesty, I loved her so much that I really thought we’d be together forever. In fact, I was so thoroughly convinced of this that after maybe a year or so together, I had already come up with a plan for when, where, and how I would eventually propose to her. It was too long-term of a plan to be worth investing in any rings yet, thank goodness, and with the benefit of hindsight the only way it could possibly have succeeded is if I’d managed to guilt her into dating me long enough that she might say yes out of sheer exhaustion. Again, hopeless romantic. But in my mind at the time, it was a plan that was clear as it was firm, and I had every intention of following through when the time came.

Needless to say, that plan didn't work out very well, and she broke up with me.  And despite all the warning signs, I somehow managed not to see it coming.  Later, when I had a slightly healthier Bitterness to Perspective Ratio, it struck me as a bit disconcerting to think that I was fully prepared to settle down with someone who I knew perfectly well would have much rather settled down with a house full of cats and dangerously high carbon monoxide levels than me.  And when I started reflecting on my other relationships, I couldn't help but admit that I don't exactly have the best track record of picking ones that could be described as "two-sided."  After all, before my current girlfriend (sorry, "fiancée"), I'd only ever told three girls that I loved them.  The first was a good friend who eventually asked me to stop telling her because it was making her uncomfortable.  (Which, with the benefit of hindsight, was a fairly reasonable request.)  The second didn't reciprocate the sentiment until I repeated it more clearly a few times to make sure she hadn't misheard me.  (Which, with the benefit of hindsight, was probably an unfair amount of pressure to put on a budding relationship.)  And the third was too taken aback to say anything, as she was probably wondering why I hadn't waited to spring this news on her until at least the second date.  (Which, with the benefit of hindsight, was pretty insane.)

But the point is, I fall in love very easily, and I have a tendency to latch on to relationships that I aspire to rather than ones that everyone involved feels good about.  And even though my current girlfriend tells me every day how much she loves and appreciates me, I have such a bad track record that it was hard to fully extinguish that little voice in the back of my mind that kept saying, "but does she really mean it?"  When I started thinking about marriage again, I couldn't shake the idea that maybe I was once again the only one looking at this as a long-term project.  And maybe if I asked, I wouldn't get the answer I wanted.  And if there's one thing I've learned from movies and television, it's that it's really awkward to propose to someone if you don't get a "yes" out of it.  Especially if you choose to do it in a public space, like your high school reunion, her sister's wedding, or a funeral.

But after crossing those locations off the list, I didn't hesitate for long, because deep down, I knew she'd say yes.  I knew that the fear that she say no wasn't based on anything she had ever said or done to make me feel unloved, it was based on my own fear that I'm the same selfish, delusional, and unobservant idiot that I was ten years ago.  And I know that despite the mistakes I've made along the way (or maybe thanks to a few of them), I've grown into a completely different type of idiot.  I'm a wiser, more mature, and fundamentally lovable idiot.  And even if they've grown a bit grey while waiting for Miss Right to come along, I still have the same irresistibly boyish curls.  And really, who could say no to that?So I went ahead and I bought a ring, when confronted with it, she said yes.  And it was a perfect moment.  We were together, we were happy, and I knew that I'd made the right choice.  Because even though we've only been engaged for about three weeks, she's already bought a wedding dress.  So at this point I'd be pretty hard pressed to think that she's any less serious about this than I am.  And if there's anyone out there, waiting patiently at a bar for me to ride in on my white horse and buy her a drink, I have to say, "sorry, but weddings are expensive, and it's cheaper to drink at home."

-TC