How I Proposed to My Husband (or Got Him to Propose to Me)

Although it seems rather gauche, women have been proposing to men since the beginning of time, and I don’t see any change in the situation. My son’s girlfriend proposed to him. I’m a little leery of a couple of twenty-somethings getting married before either has a college degree. If one or both had a full time job, that might sway me. However, I’ve been a daughter-in-law before, and I can tell you from experience that the man’s mother should not say a word. So I’m not talking.

The girlfriend’s mother is here in San Francisco. She flew all the way from Japan to meet my son and see his recital. The girlfriend’s mother doesn’t speak much English, but I got a lot of information out of her anyway. She thinks the marriage is a bad idea. She wants her daughter to go home after graduation. I doubt that’s going to happen.

I started thinking about how Mr. Demonic and I got together. I asked him out in the beginning. I insinuated myself into his life soon after. (Not unlike Mr. D Jr.’s girlfriend.) The difference was that after the first month of dating, Mr. Demonic moved 750 miles away from me. Despite the distance problem, we managed to maintain a long distance relationship for two and a half years. I’m not saying it was easy; there were times where I thought we might not make it, but in the end, love prevailed.

At first, we would take turns flying to the other’s city. He was a big shot, I was making good money at the federal agency, and plane tickets were under $160 round trip back then.

After a year of this, I decided to make a move. It was obvious that he never was going to do it. I didn’t pop the question, per se. Instead, I took the roundabout approach. During each visit to his Rust Belt city, I would make appointments for interviews with the local offices of my federal agency. I was looking for a transfer.

Transferring wasn’t going to happen. My ex-federal agency was hard to transfer around in. You’d think that they’d want to keep the natives happy, but it was a matter of the union. Going on job interviews gave me something to do when he was working. Mr. Demonic didn’t know this. He thought I was serious. (I was only partially serious.)

This caused the first major rift in our budding relationship. He told me not to make plans to move. I was adamant. He told me I’d have to find my own place. I said fine. I wasn’t fine though. I was pissed off.

After that, there was a cooling of ardor. I decided to concentrate on my own life in my own section of the Tundra, and took a couple of steps back. My new life consisted of going to parties and hanging out with friends, male and female. Oh, I still deeply loved Mr. Demonic, but I was done with the pursuit.

I applied for airline positions. I decided to enroll in a travel agent class. (HA! That would have been a bad move. Now everyone is their own travel agent!) I quit my federal agency job and got one working for the university. One cold January day, I was running late for work. There was an ice storm and my alarm didn’t go off because we had a power outage. I disembarked from the university bus, and began to run in the crosswalk toward my building.

I never made it. I was wearing clogs (a bad choice for winter in the Tundra) and fell down in the street. (Yes, I’m very uncoordinated.) I couldn’t get up. Students were passing me by, and I couldn’t get up. Eventually, after a few light cycles, a police car pulled up and threw me into the back seat. They took me to the hospital where I learned I had broken my leg.

Mr. Demonic found out, and had me discharged and sent for me. Thus began the long plane trip with my broken leg in a cast up to my hip. He wanted to take care of me. I thought, “Isn’t that sweet?” but also thought it was nuts to go 750 miles to be taken care of.

Sometime after I had arrived and was safely dispatched to his apartment, loaded down painkillers, he told me we were going to get married.

And we did. About six months later.

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11 Responses

  1. That’s very romantic, in a roundabout way, though I don’t necessarily recommend broken limbs as an inducement to matrimony.

  2. Tell the truth, Pan, you used it as an excuse to get married in hot pants, didn’t you? 😉

  3. Neat story! I don’t think you manipulated him. Things happen. It was meant to me!

    How was the recital?

  4. How… romantic?

    Classic outcome– demonstrate a lack of interest, and suddenly you’re the most desirable thing ever.

    Men.

  5. My wife proposed to me. Sort of. You already guessed that, didn’t you?

    However, I just finished telling about how we met. That’s about as much embarrassment I can handle for a decade or two, but I will get around to the proposal eventually.

  6. a broken leg is a little drastic, but I will bear it in mind, should the need ever arise. First I need to find someone I can fall in love with, then I’ll worry about which limb to sacrifice…

  7. Also, I think men like to feel needed and protective, do you agree?

    Which is okay if you’re petite, but if you’re 5’10” and pretty strong and fit, it doesn’t give them as much scope for their masculine chivalric impulses. Which is why lots of perfectly sane and capable women act like helpless kittens around men they’re attracted to, unlike you and I.

  8. That’s almost as romantic as Mr W’s proposal. 🙂

  9. Told this before, but what the heck…

    When we were driving our daughter to college, she suddenly said to her mother, “When you were my age, you were pregnant with me. I can’t imagine being pregnant at this age.”

    My wife and I said, “That’s fine.”

    When our daughter was close to graduating from college, she told us on the phone, “I’m engaged.”

    “Who?” My wife and I asked, surprised.

    “My roomate,” she said. Said roommate was female.

    It took us about a week to get used to the idea. Now, about 16 years later, although they are not legally married, my daughter and her partner are two of the “most married” people I know.

    I conclude from that: one week is my standard “get over it” time frame.

  10. That was very romantic Pan! I’m glad I didn’t have to break my leg to get Mr. R’s attention though. Maybe I’ll save that plan for hard times.

  11. All I know is that I am not doing that again!

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