This weekend my friend Lizzy and I took a little road trip up to Idaho. Typically, I make that long drive alone, crossing baren beige planes with only the Biebs or Michael Jackson to keep me company.
What do you propose?
This time, though, I didn’t have to reach for my iPod once. Conversations about everything from windshield wiper fluid to the purpose of life flowed freely. We filled a total of eight hours with charming, frivolous, substantial and invaluable chatter.
Somewhere between sighing over Jimmy Choo shoes and recalling the tragic death of a family friend, Lizzy and I stumbled into a discussion about our dream weddings. We threw out tablecloth colors, photographers, cake designs, heights for centerpieces and sizes for foral arrangements. We decided on exotic honeymoon locations and chose first dance songs. It was sappy, silly and filled with exclamations of “Love it!”
While these dreams are likely to become grander with time, or with the arrival of next Monday (we are girls, after all), we agreed that there is one aspect of tying the knot that doesn’t need to be over the top: the proposal.
While it wouldn’t hurt if that occasion included swans and fireworks and an appearance by Michael Bublé, all we really want is to hear that the men of our dreams want to spend the rest of this life and the next with us. They don’t need to write a poem or come up with one reason they love us for each letter of our names.
Forget the flashing scoreboard. Please don’t invite your family, my family and the cable guy. Take a queue from “Runaway Bride,” and keep it simple.