Ten Year Anniversary: A Moron Looks Back

This week, SaucyWench and I celebrate our 10^th wedding anniversary.

To commemorate, I thought I’d share a little story about the events leading up to the day I proposed ten years ago. Or, as we call it in our house, The Legend of the Damsel, the Moron, and the Two Fake Outs. I can tell you up front that in this particular story, I come across looking like a tremendous douchenozzle. Who’s in?

The Scene: Valentine’s Day, 1999. Saucy and I have been together for a few years, and living together for eight months. It’s common knowledge by now that she is my It Girl – I wouldn’t have shacked up with her if that weren’t the case. In other words, we both know we’re in it for the long haul -- the only thing that hasn’t happened yet is an actual proposal. From me. To her. It’s in my plan, but I don’t quite have the details set yet. Or a ring of any kind.

I’ve made plans for us to have a nice romantic dinner--the problem is that the more I think about things throughout the day, the more I start to wonder if Saucy will be sitting across from me, expecting me to pop the question tonight. After all, it’s basically National Propose to Your Girl Day, and we’ve together since 1996. We freakin’ live together already. Today would be a perfectly logical day to make a grand, romantic gesture on one knee in front of a restaurant full of onlookers. The more I think about what Saucy might be waiting for, the more I begin to worry. By the time we're ready to leave for the restaurant, I become convinced that Saucy has been waiting all day, impatiently, coquettishly, and that she’s going to be sitting across the table from me, digging delicately into her chocolate mousse to find an engagement ring that's not there.

Basically, I start to panic.

Single guys, pay attention. Here’s where I make Big Time Screw Up #1:

Just before we leave for dinner, I sit Saucy down in the living room. I take her hand. I look her in the eye, and then I say: “Baby, I know that today is one of those days that might’ve been perfect for, you know, a wedding proposal. And you know that I love you, right?”

Saucy nods.

“I just want you to know that even though I’m not going to ask you to marry me today, I’m definitely going to, someday. I loooove you.”

Yea. I actually said that.

To her credit, She pretty much rolls with the incredibly lame-ass move I just laid on her. (The fact is, Saucy was never the type of girl to pine for a ring, drop hints about marriage, or scatter bridal magazines stragically around the house. Lifetime movies trigger her gag reflex.) She assures me that no, she was not expecting me to propose tonight. She knows we’re together for reals, she knows we’ll get married one of these days, and everything is fine. She’s a total champ. I, of course, feel eight shades of sheepish. I know that what I just did was clumsy and douchy. I realize that I’m a lucky, lucky man to have a girlfriend that didn’t just punch me in the throat with her keys and say, “Gee, that was the most romantic Non-Proposal I’ve ever heard! Every girl’s dream!”

We end up having a perfectly nice dinner. We go home that night, and everything is cool. Saucy seems to be legimately fine. If she went in to work the next day and told her girlfriends about the stupid thing her rock-clod of a boyfriend did the previous night, I’ll never know.

Cut to one month later. Saucy and I are having an incredibly romantic sunset picnic at a nearby public garden to celebrate our three-year boyfriend/girlfriend coupling anniversary. The air is warm and fragrant, we’re sitting on a little bench surrounded by flowers. The sky is golden, tinged with the color of roses as the sun sinks behind the spires of Balboa Park.

It’s probably the most romantic moment ever conceived. Picnic, flowers, sunset – aw crap.

I start to panic again.

She’s definitely expecting it now, right? I mean, hell – I would. This is ridiculously romantic. I planned the picnic myself, so how is it possible that my girlfriend of three plus years isn’t expecting me to pop the question right now? Plus, I've already faked her out once. Seriously – what, exactly, is wrong with me?

Here it comes, Big Time Screw Up #2:

“Baby,” I say to her, taking her hands, “I know that this moment seems – well, you know, all romantic and everything, and it would make total sense for me to propose to you right now. I just want you to know that even though I’m not going to do it tonight, I still love you so so much, and someday, I'm gonna...”

Yes. Oh yes. Twice. You guys, I did this to her TWICE.

This time, Saucy is not quite as gracious. As I'm talking, I see one of her eyebrows start to rise. My stammering clumsiness is not so much charming anymore.

She holds up one hand.

I don’t remember this next part too well, but I’m pretty it goes something like this:

“Stop talking.”

I do.

“Here are your instructions,” she says, slowly and clearly. “Do not say the word ‘marry’ again until you decide to actually ask. If you understand, nod your head.”

We sit on our bench, eat our (now awkward) dinner, and go home. Strangely, Saucy does not leave me after that. I don't know why. She was probably just too tired to pack stuff.

Two months later, I went to a jewelry store to pick out an engagement ring, bringing one of my best female friends for support and guidance. I hid the ring from Saucy for another month, and when we flew to my hometown in Colorado for a weekend that July, I led her up to the foot of the mountains, sat her down on a stone in the middle of a green meadow, and asked her very nicely if she would marry me. Neither one of us remember what I actually said. I do recall very clearly, however, what she said.

She said Yes.

Good vs. Evil

Ever look at your kid and wonder about which side of The Force they're gonna end up on when they grow up? Most parents can't help but worry about whether good or evil will win the battle raging inside their little cherubs as they grow older. After all, most Evil Geniuses probably started off as cute little paste-eaters when they were young, right? Lex Luthor's parents had no clue what was coming.

And just admit it. You can think of at least three of your own kid's friends that you secretly suspect are going to turn out evil. They may not be torturing neighborhood pets yet, but you just know they're going to be adding "Darth" to the front of their names when they hit adulthood. You don't want to say anything to those other parents, of course. It's not your place. But you're sure you're right. Right?

No mystery in this house. I know exactly where my daughter is headed. Exhibit A: here's the conversation she and I had on the drive to school yesterday morning:

Her: I have my meeting after school today.

Me: What meeting is that?

Her: My Legion of Doom meeting.

Me: Whoa. What are you guys going to talk about?

Her: Well, we're mainly going to talk about how to take over the world. Giganta is going to become giant and step on all the good guys and Evil Joker Girl will use her flowers that spray acid on everyone, and I'll have my Freeze Ray to use on any heroes that try to stop us, of course.

Me: Of course.

Her: My best friend is Sinestra. She's Sinestro's daughter so she has a yellow power ring in case Green Lantern tries to stop us.

Me: Man, that sounds pretty hardcore.

Her: It is. It's the Legion of Doom, Daddy.

Me: I see.

Her: Only we're calling ourselves Brownies so no one else knows.

Conversations with Mini-Pirate: Math Is Easy!

It's about 4 pm. Mini-Pirate is sitting at the dining room table with her 3rd grade math homework spread out in front of her. Her brow, 'tis furrowed. I'm upstairs in my office, trying to do some work. The following conversation takes place at high volume as we shout to each other from different floors. It drives my wife crazy when we do this, but she's not here today.

Mini-Pirate: Daddy, I need help.

Me: Help with what?

Mini-P: I'm stuck.

Me: I can't hear you.

Mini-P: I SAID I'M STUCK!

Me: Stuck in what?

Mini-P: Ha ha very funny. I'm stuck with my math.

Me: Well, keep at it. You'll figure it out.

Mini-P: What?

Me: I SAID YOU'LL FIGURE IT OUT!

Mini-P: NO I WON'T. THERE'S A PROBLEM THAT'S TOO HARD. I NEED YOUR HELP.

(Brief pause. I am not inclined to go downstairs to help her because #1) I take pride in not being a Helicopter Parent when it comes to homework, and #2) If I go downstairs, I'll just have to come back upstairs again, and right now I'm all comfortable.)

Me: JUST TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND START THE PROBLEM AGAIN!

Mini-P: WHAT?

Me: DEEP BREATH!

(Another pause. Deep breathing is my default solution for most of my daughter's challenges. It's never actually worked for me, but what the hell. I can picture Mini-P down there at the table, rolling her eyes at my deep breathing suggestion, then halfheartedly trying it before slapping her pencil down on the desk.)

Mini-P: It didn't work.

Me: What?

Mini-P: IT DIDN'T WORK, I SAID!

Me: Well, I'm busy. You'll have to figure it out on your own. Just go one step at a time and you'll figure it out. You're smart.

Mini-P: WHAT??

Me: I SAID YOU'RE SMART! AND I'M BUSY!

Mini-P: I CAN'T DO IT. IT'S TOO HARD AND I HATE MATH! ARRGH!

Me: TOUGH! NO ARRGH!

(Mini-P's sigh is loud enough to rattle the windows in their frames. I begrudgingly get up and go to the top of the stairs so I can shout at a slightly lower decibel.)

Me: Honey, just do the rest of your homework problems and if you still can't figure out the hard one, I'll come down and we'll look at it together.

I hear her mutter "Fine," with all the huff of a little duchess. I try to re-focus on the work I'm doing upstairs, but I can't. The kid is excellent at math. Her teacher told me so. Last year during Spring standardized tests, she turned out to be off-the-chart smart. Half the time when I pick her up from school and ask how her day was, she tells me that everything is boring and too easy. Yet we have these moments, where she throws her hands up at the first sign of intellectual challenge and flops around like a salmon on land. Who is being asked to hold a pencil in its fin and do math.

Fifteen minutes pass. I listen for pencil slamming, sighing or grumbling, but all is silent. I wait for ten more minutes. Still nothing. I start to wonder if maybe she left the house.

My own concentration is shot, so I close up my work and go downstairs. I need more coffee anyway. Mini-Pirate is sprawled on the floor under the dining room table, coloring in her Batman activity book. She is humming contentedly to herself.

Me: Ok, I'm here. Where's that wretched math?

Mini-P (not looking up from her picture): Oh, I finished that. It was easy after all.

(Ha! Aha! Point for Dad! FTW!)

Me: Well, that's great! Good for you! See? I was right, right? Just go one step at a time, and math is no problem.

(Yes, I understand that the main point here is not that I was right. Except that I was, so it is.)

Mini-P (muttering): Hurmsnuerfwhatever.

Me: Hey, didn't you also say you have that geography exercise to do too?

Mini-P (Collapsing on top of her coloring book and moaning): "Nooooooo! Geography is too HARD! It's complicating my life!

Me: Sigh.