According to wedding websites (well, yes, I visited a few), I had better had a good story to tell about the proposal.
I don’t know what qualifies as a “good story” in these cases. I have never been proposed to before.
If, by a “good story”, you mean an evening spent in a crescendo of romanticism, up to the apex of a man down on his knee and a small velvet box… no, this is not a good story.
This is a story of me waiting (and hoping) for him to ask, I asked to live together, now it was his turn (girls, don’t be like me).
It’s a story of moments where he tiptoed around the subject (girls, don’t be like me, don’t call wedding stuff rubbish), of waiting moments (because my brother and my sister in law got there before us. Yes, I said it, I’m an horrible horrible horrible sister).
It’s a story of a question that couldn’t be kept inside any longer, to which I said yes (with a bazilion exclamation marks).
It’s a story that indeed ends with him on his knee and a box in his hands, but he was also wearing pijama and slippers, just like I was, while I was heating up breakfast.
Basically our marriage started laughing out loud.
As it should have.
But most of all, could I have ever said no to such a beautiful sight of Calabria? (Yes, the picture is a not-so-humble-self-celebratory-brag 😉 )