...Enough of my bragging. It's rude. How was your weekend? Did you have the best time? So far, this weekend has been pretty darn great. Better than most. I know you all want to know why. You're all, "Get ON with it, Kristen".
Fine. Be pushy. I, personally, find the suspense delightful. Besides, you always have the power of scrolling down. You don't have to suffer my inane chatter.
Friday I got off work at 4, because I worked late for one of the other girls earlier in the week. It gave me the perfect amount of time to go to the post office to mail off a package. I also considered making a stop at the jewelry store. Why? Well, a while back, I talked about how we're planning on getting married NEXT SUMMER. And no, we're not officially engaged yet. We've had many people ask where my ring was, and last week, Ammon decided that the next person to ask him that question would be graced with the answer, "I don't have a ring yet either! Where's feminism in action?"
...As I write this, it's less funny than it was at that moment. It just sounds angry. But trust me, it was pretty funny in the context of our conversation. So, I was seriously considering purchasing a ring. For Ammon. So that I could get mine. But, I didn't. I thought it might be too much pressure on him.
Friday night after dinner, I decided I wanted yogurt. I have a strong weakness for TCBY. So good. Off to TCBY we went... already talking about proposals. I don't remember how it came up, but it did. We got a block away, and Ammon made me pull over the car. He unbuckled his seatbelt, knelt on the floor of the front seat, and asked me to marry him. No ring, just a proposal. A heartfelt, honest, genuine, "I don't want to live without you, please join your life with mine" type of proposal. It was very, very sweet. Never what I pictured, but it seemed to fit us. After I agreed and started driving again, I admitted that I had almost gone and purchased him a ring so that I could propose to HIM. He thought it was hilarious. I reminded him that to me, it didn't matter what kind of ring was on my finger, so long as it was from him, I would be happy wearing a ring from Wal-Mart. He asked me if I was serious.
Just so we're clear, I was, and still am serious. I don't think the price of a ring should matter, so much as the symbol matters. So he insisted that after TCBY, we go across the street to Wal-Mart for a ring. And lo and behold,
Whatever we end up calling it, I'm wearing it. It's what we could afford, and it's where we're at. That doesn't bother me. And, for the moment, hopefully people will stop asking where my darn ring is.