A quick story for you today…
Four years ago today, The Boy propsed to me in Crested Butte, Colorado while we were skiing with my family. To be honest, I missed the whole thing. I missed it from the very beginning.
We had spent the day skiing. It was a gorgeous day- sunny and fine. We stopped on the mountain to eat outside and watch the kids crash into the holding zone below. As I paid at the cafeteria checkout line I realized I’d forgotten my beloved hot chocolate. I would get it, I decided, as a dessert.
We ate and lounged and gabbed and sat with our jackets off and boots unbuckled. With about fifteen minutes to go, The Boy looked over at me- the very picture of sweetness- and said, “Did you want some hot chocolate?”
“Yes! I did!”
[There was a very pregnant pause as The Boy stared at me not moving and not, I realized in shock, offering.]
“And I suppose I’ll go get it myself.”
I did not see my mother crying or my father smirking as I returned with my bittersweet hot chocolate. I only saw my punk boyfriend who was a punk and I did not like him because he was a punkpunkpunk.
I skiied out my irritation the rest of the day, and we went on our date that night. He asked me to marry him on a back road overlooking the small mining town. He explained how he had asked my father on the mountain while I bought my hot chocolate and how he was sorry but he just didn’t know how to get rid of me. I heard none of this, of course, because I was obsessing about my camera. And, all the sudden he was on the ground and I was engaged.
I missed it all. All of it.
But I married him, you know. It turned out ok.
The Boy is on his way to Dallas to fly back to Michigan as we speak. Rylie and I will stay until Thursday, lounging and playing with goats and drinking Sonic milkshakes. Be safe, Daddy. We miss you already.