Weddingbee Blog

The year was 2009. About three months before Mr. Tartlet and I went on vacation, we had a conversation that went something like this:

Me: “…so…we’re going to the Caribbean!” Mr. Tartlet: “Uh-huh.” Me: “Are you going to propose to me?” *bouncing follows* Mr. Tartlet: “Um…”

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Yep. It was one of those conversations. We had discussed marriage before, so I knew he needed time to grow into a lifelong commitment. However, after five years of dating, I was starting to get a little impatient. After considerable grumping around, I shoved the idea of matrimony into the back of my mind and instead looked forward to our vacation. I spent those glorious days mostly eating, sleeping, and curling up with some fantastic reads.

Fast forward to the last night of the cruise. A casual suggestion to take a walk on deck led us to the privacy of the bow of the ship (think Titanic). It was the perfect setting—a clear starry night, the gentle ocean breeze—and I was totally clueless because of the conversation we’d had three months prior. After standing in silence for a few minutes enjoying each other’s company, my stomach gave an embarrassing rumble. I take cues from my stomach very seriously, so I turned away to head down to dinner.

Mr. Tartlet: “Holly.”

Me: (continuing to walk away) “Hmm?”

Mr. Tartlet: “…Holly.“

Me: (whips around and says in a snappy voice) “What?!?“

…he was down on one knee, ring in hand.

Now, in all my daydreams I always had a lady-like, graceful response to his proposal. Reality? I laughed. Hysterically. I made a bunch of nonsensical squeaking noises that would have made Beaker proud.

As if that weren’t bad enough, I punched him on the shoulder because it dawned on me that three months ago he was planning on proposing and only said he wasn’t because he loves surprising me. I continued my barrage of flailing limbs as I put odd events of the day together, and realized he had purchased the engagement ring earlier right under my nose. (He deftly distracted me by sending me on a Haagen Dazs run.) The poor guy eventually had to ask whether or not my response(s) translated to a “yes.”

While it’s been a year and a half since that night, the sparkle on my left hand still catches my eye and makes me smile.

Was your proposal a complete shock, or did you have a gut feeling it was coming?