You mean after he put the ring on my finger, and after I stopped jumping up and down and freaking the fuck out? After that?
Well, after that, we still had to walk two miles back to the car. But it was great.
We had a lot of conversations that went like this:
“We’re gonna get married!”
“I know – isn’t it awesome?”
“Yeah! Hey – let’s get married!”
“What a great idea!”
Yes, we are disgusting.
My Guy also asked if he had put the ring on the correct finger – he’d had to look it up online to have a plan of action. He also had a ton of Kleenex in his pockets because he knows I can be quite the crier. But I didn’t cry at all – I laughed like a hyena. Because I hear that’s what most men are looking for in a future wife.
We decided that the only proper way to celebrate our engagement was to head to our favorite restaurant. So, we ran home, didn’t even take showers after our sweaty walk, and changed our clothes in flash. Then, we headed out to the hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant downtown that has the best lasagna on the planet.
We each had lasagna and we split a piece of chocolate cake.
As we were leaving, I asked the guy at the register if he’d take our picture since we’d been engaged for a whole hour and a half. He did, but he wanted to know if we’d had any Champagne. Uh … no?
By this time, it was after 11 and the place was empty except for the regulars gathered around the bar. And all those regulars got glasses of Champagne and toasted our engagement. I was overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity of the restaurateur and his customers.
The Champagne was on the house because the restaurateur was so excited we wanted to celebrate with them. Oh, and the lasagna is so great because his mom makes it every morning.
One man at the bar bought us shots. A woman gave us each big hugs and gave me a rose. Many folks offered congratulations and advice. It was such an amazing gift, and one that I will never, ever forget.
A man with exactly two teeth sat down next to me and proceeded to offer his congratulations. He wasn’t a regular so much as probably a nuisance to the regulars. He told us, “Me, myself and I? I won’t never get married, cuz I don’t want no one woman telling me what to do. Me, myself and I? I get enough trouble trying to keep all of my ladies apart. You know what I’m sayin’?”
Mmm. Yes. We know.
He did have bit of advice. “If you ever have a daughter? You should name her Carma. It’s a beautiful name. C-A-R-M-A. You know, like the smell!”
At this point, one of the old Italian guys sitting at the bar told our toothless friend to leave us alone. But we’re still trying to figure out what carma smells like.