Me: Vicki, will you marry me?Further entries will be titled "Conversations with the fiancee" and, unless Vicki comes to her senses, "Conversations with the wife."
Yes, we are both very happy. No, we haven't set a date. If you're curious, the question was popped outside the food building at the CNE last Friday. After Whack-a-mole and corn dogs.
A histogram of the reactions from family thus far would skew heavily along the "it's about time/what took you so long" axis. Vicki, for her part, says I exceeded her expectations by several years. (She apparently doesn't expect much of me.) I plead a combination of poverty, maleness, and a since-dispelled anxiety about being away from Vicki for many years at university.
I thought I was anxious about having spent so long apart: ha! The ten seconds it took Vicki to a) realize what I was holding, b) realize what I was asking, c) kiss me, and d) say yes have got to be the most anxious seconds of my adult life. The analogy I've been using to describe the intensity and volume of my anxiety in those seconds is inappropriate for a blog my parents read.