Tuesday, 14 January 2014

Sweeter than tupelo honey: An Engagement Story, part III.

Hey, y'all! 
How are you doing on this fine Tuesday morning?
Did you miss me?
I'll take that as a yes.

I hope you won't hold it against me much--the last month involved the holidays, saying goodbye to Glasgow and Fiancé, and a transatlantic move. I've been back in Florida for just over a week now, and I gotta say that I'll take 63 degrees and sunny and run with it. It's been lovely getting to see my family and friends for the first time in half a year. But I do owe y'all the last bit of our engagement story, and I'm here to deliver what the people want.

For any of you out there who know me, you'll know that I tend to get...anxious on big days. I'm always a little worried that I'll be late or forget something important. I hate being late and I had a dream just last night that I'd forgotten to write a paper for school. I might have a problem, here. But December 3rd, the day I graduated with my MSc, was not immune to my slight tendency to freak out.
Three separate people had to make me promise I wouldn't panic. 
Not that it helped. I was a little stressed. 

To be honest, much of the day is a bit hazy. I got ready, opened a lovely gift from my parents, and stopped for lunch at the Kelvingrove with my parents and Fiancé. And I realized about halfway through lunch that I might be late to pick up my robes for the ceremony, so I shoveled in the rest of my food and ran up to the university with Meg. 
What can I say? I'm a classy lady.


They didn't talk us through what we were supposed to do during the ceremony until about 20 minutes before, but I think we did alright. I didn't trip or end up in the wrong seat, so I count it as a success. I got bopped on the head, draped with robes, and handed my Master's degree. One transatlantic move, one year of grad school, and one 15,128 word dissertation later, it was done. I was stoked. It was a big day to start with, but little did I know what was coming later.



We capped off a great evening with dinner at the Bothy in the West End. Dinner was fabulous, and it was nice getting a last meal with both sets of parents there. But my parents were leaving early in the morning for the States, and so we decided to call it a night after dinner. We offered to give Fiancé a ride back to his flat on our way to mine, but he declined. 
My parents and I had just barely been home when my flat buzzer rang. I was in the process of re-bandaging my knee, which was wounded from a truly classic Mary Elisabeth fall in Edinburgh the day before. Yes, I graduated with my Master's degree with a skinned knee. Like I said, classy.

I popped up to answer the buzzer, confused about who it might be, and it was Fiancé. I buzzed him in and opened the door, and the first thing he said was,
"Is your dad around?"**

Subtlety is his strong suit, clearly. 

I said, "He is, but he's in the bathroom. What are you doing here?"

He made some excuse about figuring he should come over because my parents were leaving in the morning, and I thought Okayyy...this is weird.
After my dad came out of the bathroom, they spoke in the kitchen and then...
THEN...

My lovely, giant, Scottish boyfriend came through to the living room, said some very sweet things I can't exactly recall, got down on one knee, and asked me to marry him. My dad captured the end of the proposal on video. Most of it consists of me dancing excitedly and saying, "Are you serious?! Are you sure?!" 
But don't worry, I said yes first. :)

I've got to mention that this was not part of some grand plan by Fiancé. As he tells the story, he realized he wanted to propose and did it in a space of about ten minutes. But it was so special to me that my parents were able to be there for our engagement, and I know it was really special to them, too. My dad keeps saying that it was the best way to end their trip to Scotland. So now we're planning an international, half Scottish, half Southern, big Catholic wedding while being separated by the Atlantic Ocean. It's not without its struggles, I tell ya, but the fact is: we're getting married and I just can't wait!

xoxo

**I feel like I could write a whole post on why Fiancé talking to my dad before proposing was important to me, being that I'm a feminist, but I'll summarize it here: Tradition matters to me. My parents' blessing matters to me. If my dad had said no, it wouldn't have changed my decision to marry Fiancé--it wasn't a request for permission, but a request for their blessing and acceptance of our relationship. It's a sign of respect where I come from. I won't deny it's complicated territory, but I get to decide which traditions (however outdated) I want to keep and which ones to put away.  

1 comment:

  1. My husband asked my dad as well - calling him from London to Atlanta, and he is not a talker. But I was so glad he did it. Congrats!

    ReplyDelete

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All materials on this blog belong to me, unless stated otherwise. I try to give credit where it is due, but the internet is a vast wasteland of images separated from their creators. If you own something I post that is not attributed to you, please contact me and I will fix it stat. STAT. Like a doctor running down the hallways of the hospital to restart someone's heart. Exactly like that.