Caramel Apples, New "Digs," and Taking a Knee: Our Proposal

He liked it and put a Ring on It

I interrupt my usual program (aka my planning process lessons) for Story Time! Chance is back at Georgia Tech and is still working part-time at a contracting firm, and I am taking 15 hours of classes/16.5 hours of work all crammed into 3 days of the week. Luckily, my saving grace of a weekend gives me plenty of time to amend my procrastinating ways and to plan (or rather Pin) for the wedding. Despite all of the crazy, I still like to stop and reflect on the fact that we are engaged. Can I just reiterate that fact? Chance and I are engaged, and here is our story.

Even though the number of times I retold our engagement story reached incalculable heights right after the day that gorgeous ring was placed on my finger, I’m still not sick of it. I’ll preempt this story by explaining why there are no photos capturing the moment for which Chance had been planning for up to a month (as far as I am aware anyway). Thanks to Pinterest and other social networking sites, many women out there, including myself, have been trained into thinking that the proposal story absolutely needs to be photojournalized in order to reach its full potential on the epic cuteness/romantic scale. Chance did not prescribe to this theory of thought. We have no pictures of the moment because Chance said that people should ask for our story, and we should be able to tell it, not post it all over Facebook. (Again, I am expressing his views—he was able to persuade me. I am NOT trying to condemn the views of others). Now, without any further a due, I will do my best to paint a picture of our proposal story.

On Friday November 2, 2012, I woke up early, ran late, and grabbed Dunkin’ on my frantic drive out of the neighborhood. It was a typical morning. On the way to work, I called Chance to confirm our Friday and weekend plans like I normally do on my way to work.  He ended the conversation with “Okay, so I will leave right after work and head to your parents house, pick you up, and we can head to Dahlonega.”

The plan was pretty straightforward. Chance had called me earlier in the week and told me that we were long overdue for a trip to Dahlonega. He told me he had been cooped up at work and missed out on most of the fall weather. “Plus, I know how much you’ve been craving a caramel apple from the square,” was the only incentive I needed to make room in my schedule for a trip to North Georgia. I told him that I would leave right after my shift at the Writing Center and make the drive to Cumming where I could vote early that afternoon. I would then drive to my parents’ house where he could pick me up. The day went on, and I counted down the hours of my relatively short shift. On a side note, that morning, a friend from my hometown dropped into the Writing Center for help with a draft, and we were able to catch up a little. She asked about Chance; I asked about her fella’. She knowingly smiled and said something along the lines of “after, this many years, I’m sure you’re used to this: Any talk of wedding bells soon?” We giggled some time over the prospect, but I told her that there had only been vague discussion. Without any conviction or afterthought of our chit-chat, I clocked out and shot down I-575 only to hit a wall of Friday traffic. Frustrated and late, yet again, I called Chance to tell him I still needed to vote and that I planned to pick my mom up and take her to the courthouse with me since she needed to vote too. Exasperated, claiming that we needed to leave for Dahlonega as soon as we possibly could, Chance agreed to cash his vote in with us.

The three of us arrived at the voting booths just in time to avoid serious line damage. Of course, I wanted pictures of my first (fruitless) voting experience, but Chance kept ushering me out the door. “We are just going to get apples. What’s the big deal?” He insisted that we didn't want to hit traffic. I confessed to him that I was surprised he didn't want to change out of his work clothes first ,seeing as how I was dressed way down, and he hammered me with some more traffic concern. After he was finally able to stop my first-time voter photoshoot and get me out the door, we were on our way to Dahlonega for a seemingly typical stroll around the square and a treat of divinely made caramel apples.

Photo Credit

We finally made it to the square, and we walked through the shops for about an hour. I complained of hunger until we went to the general store to get a snack. We went to the chocolate shop, bought the caramel apples and put them in the car to save for an after-dinner dessert. Chance I asked me what I wanted to do for dinner, and I, of course, complained that he hadn't made concrete plans (I know he was exasperated with me by this point). He casually suggested a winery, but I, rolling my eyes, explained that I was not dressed for a nice restaurant. Chance was in his work clothes and could get into any restaurant just fine. I, however, had chosen a grunge, circa 1990 inspired ensemble. Think female Kurt Cobain: black, bandage skirt; ripped, black tights; brown, knit sweater, and let's not forget the combat boots. Chance then suggested that we go to Dress Up Boutique to buy me new outfit, and for some reason my antennae didn’t go up. We spent a good amount of time to find me something to wear. A new dress picked by Chance, new shoes, and new accessories later, we were back on the road, me none the wiser.

In the car, I called my mom because we had discussed eating dinner earlier in the week as a group. I asked Chance what he thought of them meeting us there since we didn't have any official dinner plans, and I think I caught him off guard because he never gave me a straight-forward answer. Because Chance had already spoken with my dad and asked for my hand (such a gentleman), my parents were on their toes about the night and Chance’s intentions. For this reason, my mom was hesitant on the phone about meeting us, and she was having second thoughts about whether or not this night was going to be the night. Because of all of the uncertainty, I grew frustrated and gave up trying to make our dinner plans, telling Chance to “just go wherever.” I know, I’m ridiculous, and Chance is an angel to put up with me.

While we drove over the reservoir, Chance pulled into a parking lot and coaxed me out of the car to see the view that he likes to stop at on his motorcycle rides. He grabbed his blazer out of the car and I, hobbling on the gravel in my new heels and unaware that he was concealing the ring, gave him a hard time about how it wasn't even cold. I was on a roll of ruining the moment.

 On the bridge, the lake was gorgeous, and Chance had timed it perfectly—the sun was setting over the mountains. After watching the sun set, I quipped up that I was hungry…again. At this point, I think he was just ignoring it, and he asked me, "What do you think of the view?" My response? "Ya, it's really pretty *pause* except that giant concrete block in the middle of the pond." I sure am a sweet talker. Grinning, most likely amused at this point by my insistence to be a grump, Chance pointed behind me at a family of ducks. When I had turned back around, he was on one knee with the ring held up to me.

To be completely honest, I don’t remember all that was said or my response because I was so surprised, excited, and about 50 other emotions that I will spare your tired eyes. We did end up meeting my family for a celebratory dinner, and those moments leading up to the announcement were the longest 20 minutes ever. Despite my expert moment spoiling, it was a perfect proposal. The butterflies when I tell the story have still not worn off, and even while typing this, I continue to smile. So, that’s our proposal story; I apologize for the novel length, but I do love detail.