She Who Must Be Obeyed, 1977.
<RENVOICE>Get on weeth eet, man!</RENVOICE>
We all tend to get complacent when things are going well. “Let sleeping dogs lie” is the watchword of the day. But there comes a time when one must make a stand. Get off the dime. Shit or get off the pot. Decide!
It was thirty years ago today that I decided...and the happy consequences of that decision are with me every day. For on February 5, 1977, I - to use the popular expression - popped The Question to She Who Must Be Obeyed.
I had selected a romantic setting: at Courtlandt’s, a fine dining establishment in downtown Houston, now regrettably defunct. With red Bordeaux, Châteaubriand, and bananas Foster coursing recklessly through my veins, I issued my Modest Proposal...a proposal that was promptly accepted.
SWMBO and I had been seeing each other for just over thirteen months. It was very early on in our relationship that I realized that she was Something Special, and after a few months I realized that my feelings had progressed to where the dreaded “L word” came into play. But I was complacent in my happiness...at least until my mother reminded me that the clock was ticking. “What the hell are you waiting for?” was the delicate way she phrased it.
It’s thirty years later, and there is no decision I have ever made before or since that I am as pleased to have made. Happy Engage-a-Versary, my love!
Even better: the Missus informs me that she won eighty simoleons in her school’s Super Bowl pool! Is this one a keeper, or what?