Yes, my lemurs, against all laws of nature and probability, I asked, and she said yes. (The asking wasn't the improbable or unnatural part, trust me). Let me lay it out for you.
It was Friday night, a wildly dramatic and romatic evening planned. The flowers were delivered late in the evening. I made reservations at The Melting Pot, which is a rather romantic little fondue place nearby. We had late dinner reservations, so we had planned to do some shopping beforehand, but we got all dolled up and decided to have a champagne toast and relax a bit before going. Their special V-day dinner was several courses, beginning with (yet another) champagne toast, wine and cheese, followed by an incredible array of shrimp, lobster, filet mignon, and oh yes I think there may have been some broccoli or something in there, but we ate around that. And then, over the chocolate and the cheesecake, the card. With a Christopher Marlowe poem inside. And then, while she was flummoxed by poetry and the opiate capacities of the chocolate, I asked the burning question:
Are you going to eat the rest of that?
And then, while she was further flummoxed by that improbable non sequitur, I asked the real question:
Will you please marry me?
And the rest is history. She filed the restraining order on Saturday. Or so I had feared. But no, the love of my life gently and tearfully agreed to spend her life with me. I am beside myself. I am incapable of coming up with any non-cliche ways of describing this at the moment, but I'm sure I will have other opportunities as the months wear on. But I never thought I could be this happy. It never stops getting better.
ClothMother_old