When my husband proposed to me on July 10th, 2005, I was ecstatic. In fact, I’m pretty sure I screeched “Yeeeeeeeeessssssssssssssssssssssssss” before he could even pull the ring out of his pocket.
Our plan was to move into the little apartment above his work — it was part of his compensation package — then get married the following summer. Unfortunately (fortunately?), a few of the older ladies in the company didn’t like the idea of an unmarried couple living together, and they ended up changing the terms so we couldn’t both live there until we were married.
I was crushed … until, of course, my mom suggested something novel. “Get married this winter,” she said. “Why not?”