Two Worlds Collide (aka How I Succumbed to the 'M' Word) continued

www.publicdomainpictures.net (still cutesy enough for ya?)

When I last left you guys I was relating the story of how I met my wife Sandy, panicking on our first date at the thought of being caught by mother bear and planning my subsequent escape. The story continues…

“…… But wait. Do I hear the floor creaking upstairs? Is someone awake?”

Nah there was no noise, I also threw this in for dramatic effect. Actually all is quiet upstairs. So I kiss her and stealthily sneak out of the house into daybreak. Putting the car in neutral, I coast down the driveway and start it on the street. To this day I’m not sure if her mom knew I was there. If she did I think I’d probably be speaking several octaves higher these days.

Over subsequent weeks Sandy and I dated exclusively and I was over every weekend. I don’t remember how it happened but in short time we began renovating the basement, where Sandy’s room was. I had a long drive back and forth between my home and her place and soon, much to her mother’s dismay, her father agreed to let me stay over on weekends. To make things even more interesting her dad’s room was above her bedroom. I don’t need to tell you the special challenges that brings, but needless to say we weren’t saving ourselves for marriage. There was also the time we got trapped in the bathroom together when her mom came down to do laundry. But that's another (delicious) story for another time...

During these renovations, I created and introduced my in-laws to Bartholemew, my flamboyantly gay interior designer alter-ego. For several months Sandy’s mom and dad were pretty much convinced I had flamingly gay tendencies. Most of that probably had to do with the way I flitted around the rooms, proclaiming in a very effeminate voice how thimply FABULOUS everything was and how thtunning the fabrics were the way they played off each other. Sandy and I were giggling our asses off, but I think her folks really did have their doubts about me. (And for any of you reading who are gay, no I don't think there's anything wrong with that. To each their own, I say).

However. Sandy’s father was very homophobic. Like, incredibly. So when the renovations were done and they gave me a microwave oven for my place as a thank-you, I didn’t help matters much by giving him a kiss on the forehead. I’ve never seen a man go so bright red and clench his fist so tightly before. Seriously.

Fast forward about five years.

We’ve had our own place for a while and the topic of marriage has been discussed. Sandy doesn’t want a long engagement so I decide to wait until the time is right before I propose.

Christmas Eve comes. I’m reading my card from her, and (as always) she’s written a beautiful note to me in the back. “Honey, I love you…blah blah blah. My life with you has been wonderful…blah blah blah…Will you marry me?”

Wait, what?? Where’d that come from?

Let’s back up a couple hours before this. I’m not usually one to want to drive around looking at Christmas lights. But for some reason I had to pick tonight as the perfect time to drive around the neighbourhood. Unbeknownst to me Sandy has this proposal thing planned, so she's been patiently sitting in the car internally bouncing up and down like a kid who's had to go pee for three hours. To make matters worse there aren’t many houses lit up so we spend quite a bit of time driving aimlessly around looking.

Oh, did I mention the neighbourhood is predominantly Jewish. WTF was I thinking?

Anyway. So she’s just proposed to me in my Christmas card. And how do I answer? Yes? No? Uh-uh. My response is, “When?”

“Whenever,” she replies. “Okay.” I respond and promptly down this big-ass Long-Island iced tea I’m drinking. For the next three days I walk around dazed, bumping into walls and not realizing when someone is talking to me. No joke. I’ve just committed to the ‘M-word’. And what makes it even harder to take is, I never got to do any of those crazy, unique proposals I had planned. No dressing up in gorilla suits. No surprise ring in the dessert. No skywriting.

But none of that matters, because after knowing each other for seventeen years Sandy’s still the love of my life. More importantly she’s my best friend.

xo