Shortly after my second date with PIC, I told my family, “I’m going to marry this man.”
My mother’s response was, “Yeah, okay…”
My brother’s was, “What? You’ve only known him for like two weeks!”
He had a point, but I just knew, to my very core, that this was different. Mainly because I was different, as in I finally felt, for the first time in my life, like I had sh*t together. I had a house, I’d just come back from my first press trip and I had a clear sense of what I wanted to do with my life.
And so I made my brother a bet: $100 that I’d be engaged to PIC by the end of the year.
That was about 8 months ago, and although I know 8 months isn’t a very long time, it’s not always about time. Sometimes it’s about timing, and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect in our case.
Still, the past few weeks have seemed to drag on.
PIC went to talk to my parents back in March.
We went ring shopping April.
Our parents met in May.
July was replete—absolutely replete!—with opportunities for a proposal.
Then my best friend from high school got engaged.
Then my best friend from college got engaged.
And although I was thrilled for each of them, there was a tiny, small, not-so-nice part of me that was left wondering, “When’s it gonna be my turn?”
PIC had assured me that he “had a plan” and that it was going to happen before my 30th birthday but after teaching all week, and cat sitting, and attempting to log at least 3 novel-writing hours each day, I was exhausted by the time Friday evening rolled around. I didn’t even remember to pack a lipstick in my dance bag, and I’d drank so much iced coffee that I felt nauseated by the time we arrived at the art museum.
I almost didn’t want to go.
But I’m glad I did, as though of you who read yesterday’s post will know.
And on Sunday night when my brother presented me with my birthday gift, he also gave me these, totaling $100.
I think 30 is going to be a good year. I