So, last night we realized an interesting problem. Zach has the fattest knuckles ever! Like, any ring that fits over his middle knuckle is way too loose around the base of his finger! He’s never worn rings before and thus never thought about this dilemma. I know nothing about jewelry and have no idea how to solve this problem. I just know if it were me I would be really annoyed by a ring jiggling around all the time, even if it wasn’t going to come off. Has anyone else out there ever had this problem, Internet? What do you do to get a ring that fits???
“I don’t want to get married until I’m 30.”
Welp, I’m about to turn 25, and if our plan to get married next summer works out, I’ll be saying “I do” at 26. According to the statistics I just googled, this is just about the average age of first marriage for women in the United States.
The reason I wanted to wait until I was around 30 was because my mom always emphasized to me, and I always believed in, the importance of living on your own for awhile and establishing your independence. I also definitely viewed marriage as a sign of “getting old.” Back in the day I envisioned myself as a mostly-single chick throughout my 20s, living in a fantastic apartment and galavanting around NYC with my many friends and many dates. Dreamland, ha.
As it turned out in the real world, I got my stab at living on my own and being independent; in fact I experienced that in a much more extreme way than most people ever do. (But that part of the story is coming later.) For me it turned out that the phrase “When you know you know…” really was true. As I fell in love with Zach, all of my preconceptions about age and marriage changed. I think the first time I knew that he might be “the one” was when I realized that he was the first guy I had ever dated that I could see myself totally scrapping all of my future plans for. Not that he asked me to do that. But waiting until 30 to get married suddenly didn’t matter anymore. Not that we rushed things; as I said in the beginning of our story, we met over three years ago. In fact, I know a lot of our family members think we should have gotten married a long time ago. But we wanted to wait until we were ready. And it turns out, I’m ready a lot sooner than I expected to be.
What else could I possibly close this with besides the most perfectly cheeseball quote ever from “When Harry Met Sally“?
“When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”
Disclaimer: I’m probably going to talk about wedding-planning a lot on this blog. BUT fear not, it is not going to become exclusively a “wedding blog”, especially because our wedding is probably not going to be particularly blog-worthy. (The very wise Meg says it doesn’t have to be.) I’m still going to write about a little bit of everything. I’ll be back more once we’re back in the U.S. this summer. But I’m going to want to write about the planning process here, as we try to have an “awesomely-us” and very A-typical wedding. So what better way to start that with our whole cheesy story?
This is how much life has reinforced to me that my plans don’t mean anything. I distinctly remember being 18-years-old, sitting at Hounddogs Pizza with two friends from high school, our departures for various colleges imminent on the horizon. We were talking about the exciting possibilities of college guys, of course. I remember saying something almost exactly like this: “You’re not going to meet any decent guys at parties or bars…that’s trashy. We should try to meet guys in classes or clubs or something.” Oh, how wise I thought I was!
Fast forward 3.5 years.
February 11, 2009 was a pretty average Wednesday night in Columbus, Ohio. I had recently graduated from college, finally broken up with my way-too-long-way-too-wrong college boyfriend (who I met at orientation…how wholesome!), and moved back home to my parents’ house for the six months I had before I would be leaving for Peace Corps Tanzania. I had just gotten my first serving job to fill my time, and was focused on enjoying my friends and my newfound freedom before leaving for Africa.
This Wednesday was to be a girls’ night with my BFF and some of her college friends near OSU campus. And as much as I hate to admit that this was the scene of the crime, where else would we go on a Wednesday night but out for $10 fishbowls????
Yes sirree, we went to the oh-so-fratty Ugly Tuna Saloona!!! An OSU legend. What can I say, we loved fishbowls. (Still do.) We managed to snag a high-top table, and were just enjoying ourselves chatting and dancing. At the table next to us was a group of three guys. Eventually somehow these guys ended up at our table, introducing themselves. (Zach claims he was the one who made it happen.) The first guy I talked to was one of Zach’s friends, but somehow in the middle of our conversation I got distracted by the curly-haired blonde kid talking to my BFF on the other side of the table (Zach). There was probably some liquid courage involved, because I’m normally not at all outgoing, but I found myself moving over there and sidling up to him. We talked for awhile (more like shouted at each other over the blasting music) and discovered a few common interests in movies, music, etc. And I definitely thought he was beyond attractive. Eventually Zach’s friends wanted to leave (guess they weren’t having as good of luck as he was!) but before they headed out, Zach asked me if I was free to go out on Friday night. I told him sure I was, trying to act all cool like I was a pro at this dating game (I definitely was not), and we exchanged numbers. Of course at the time I was not looking for a relationship (I was about to leave for two years in Africa!) but I was excited for a date (my first after breaking up with my ex, so I guess you could call it a rebound) and some casual flirtation.
Another funny tidbit: I must’ve been on fire that night because after Zach left some other guy came up and offered to buy me a drink. I got him to buy us all another fishbowl (after Zach had totally mooched a lot of our first one!) and then told him to go away. He was a frat-guy greaseball. Lol.
That night when I got home I got a text around 2am. “Don’t forget you’re hanging out with me Friday night!” from the newest contact in my phone, Zach.
Well, for me at least. If you haven’t guessed it yet by the title, I’ll just let it out now.
Zach and I are ENGAGED!!!!!!!!!!! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!! Happy dance!!!!!!
Think I’m thrilled enough? I’m pretty freakin’ happy.
I kind of knew/hoped that the question was coming sometime during our South American adventure. Of course we talked about wanting to get married many times before he proposed, because really, if you don’t already know the answer, you have no business asking. That’s what we thought. But although we could have just diplomatically decided to be engaged after so many discussions, we both wanted a proposal. We wanted the fun and the surprise of it. And so for many months we (I, mostly, I think) suffered through the awkwardness and slight tension of the “pre-engaged state.” (This was totally me.) I had this like, insane itch to talk about a wedding, plan a wedding, I just was so freakin’ happy at the thought that I HAD FOUND my person that I was going to spend the rest of my life with!!! But without an official ring on the finger, society makes us women feel like we are desperate and obsessed if we start thinking at all about the wedding before we have the ring. I call a bit of BS on that. But I kept trying to pretend I wasn’t reading wedding blogs obsessively and I tried to keep my daydreams in my head. “We agreed that this is Zach’s thing that he gets to do and he gets to do it on his terms…so chill,” I kept telling myself. I think I did alright…I’d give myself about a C+ in the chilling department.
Well, finally, all my patience finally paid off. March 13, 2012, in the gorgeous Cañon del Colca, Peru….