I know I really can’t complain because this is really the only football game that Joel watches all season, but GOD. The Super Bowl is so boring. We’ve already gone through the Sunchips, Gardetto’s snack mix, nachos AND tequila-wings (uh, every single food I just mentioned was purchased yesterday at Sam’s Club. Is that strange?) and there is still a whole quarter left. I really don’t think I can eat any more.
So let’s talk about more interesting things, shall we? Like perhaps The Proposal Story?
So, Joel and I went to Barcelona a few weeks ago. Perhaps I mentioned this? Seventy thousand times? Before we left I took a larger than usual dose of “good natured ribbing” from, oh, EVERYONE I KNOW, about wh ether we were going to come back from this trip Officially Engaged. No, I told them. Absolutely not. People can just go on vacation, you know. There doesn’t have to be some underlying motive for a fun trip. We got a really good deal on Hotwire and we just like to travel and Joel’s never been out of the country AND JUST LAY OFF ME ALREADY WITH THE PRESSURE. I even have a half-written post saved as a draft about how annoying, rude and incredibly offensive I find the “So, when are you getting married” question. Seriously, I know that people are just trying to show a good-natured interest in my life (most of the time), but as a public service to all Committed But Not Engaged persons, please do not say things like “When are you going to get engaged, already?” It’s not cool. It makes us feel bad about ourselves and it makes us want to punch the asker in the face.
Ahem.
So, off we went to Barcelona. After our four-hour layover in scenic Newark, NJ, our flight landed without incident in Spain and we were reminded just how real jetlag is. We found our hotel and checked in around 10am Barcelona time (4am our time) and immediately collapsed for a 2-hour nap. “No more than two hours! Any more than that and we won’t be able to sleep tonight, and the jetlag will just go on and on and on,” I insisted. You see, I’ve done this before. I’ve been to Europe a few times. I worked in a sleep lab. I know all about circadian rhythms and sleep stages and I consider myself somewhat of an expert. Two-hour naps are the key!
Three hours later Joel had to drag me out of the bed.
We walked around the city in search of food and I realized just how much Spanish I’d lost when I broke into a cold sweat trying to order us two croissants for breakfast. We found a reputable ATM and took out some Euros. We walked around, amused by the tininess of everything in Europe: tiny cars, tiny toilets, tiny (but lovely) hotel room, tiny bed. We finally collapsed into bed for the night at a reasonable hour (not too early! You need to get on a regular schedule right away or you’ll never adjust!) and slept harder than I have in a long, long time.
The next morning we woke up and scouted out a few more croissants for breakfast (never have I eaten such heavy breakfast every day and LOST WEIGHT. We walked a minimum of two and half hours a day, every day. The Europe Diet, you should try it!) and Joel suggested that we go check out the Palau Nacional (National Palace), which also doubles as the art museum. I said “sure”, and staggered along after him like a jet-lagged, coffee-less zombie (by the end of the trip we knew where every Starbucks in the city was located, but this was our first morning and I was still under the delusion that “I can go without coffee for a week”). We walked up the million steps to the front of the palace and admired the view of the city below us. We wandered around the grounds, watched a little black cat that reminded us of Henry chasing an imaginary bird up a tree. We walked over to the other side of the grounds, which turned out to just be a bus parking lot, and I suggested that we sit down on one of the benches provided for a short break. Or maybe a short nap. I really would have been fine with either.
“Let’s walk back to the center and sit there, where we can enjoy the view,” Joel suggested.
Sigh. More walking? I agreed. The view was pretty.
We sat down on the stone benches in front of the palace and looked out over the city. Tourists posed for pictures in front of the balcony with the cityscape behind them, couples sat together on the steps poring through travel books, a street performer set up his speakers and guitar while off to the side an older man carefully arranged his necklaces on a blanket to attract buyers. The morning haze hung over the city beneath us.
“I think we should go inside and see this museum before I fall asleep right here,” I told Joel.
“Let’s just sit here and enjoy the nice view for a little while.” he replied. After a moment he added, “And enjoy the company.” (I am not joking. He said that. Feel free to gag, I probably would if someone else were telling this story).
“OK, we can stay as long as you want. I’m just going to lie down here and take a little nap, wake me up when you want to go in,” I said.
“Before you do that, I have a question for you,” Joel said, and in a flash he had whipped a ring out of his pocket and bent down on one knee. “Will you marry me?”
I’m not kidding when I say it happened in a flash; maybe it just seemed that way to me in my jetlagged state, but I thought that when life-changing moments arrived things were supposed to slow down, not speed up. My brain started reeling and I honestly could not comprehend what was happening. “Are you serious?” was the first thing that came out of my mouth. Joel assured me that he was completely serious, but I just kept repeating things like “are you kidding?” and “is that [the ring] real?” I was crying and shaking. I can’t remember having such a visceral reaction to an event since I took my driver’s test when I was seventeen and almost failed because my leg was shaking so hard that I couldn’t properly brake.
And of course, as soon as the shock wore off I said YES!
I could not tell you one thing that we saw in that museum, which we did go into afterwards. I remember that when I took the ring from Joel, I put it on the wrong hand, and then when we realized that it wouldn’t fit on my ring finger we moved it to my middle finger for safekeeping (it would certainly have fallen off the ring finger; when we had it resized it turned out to be almost two full sizes too big for my freakishly skinny fingers). I remember that they checked our tickets at every single exhibit in the museum, and that every time I took my hand out of my pocket I was mesmerized by the rock on my hand. I remember how heavy the ring felt.
I remember that the after we had lunch at Telepizza, we were walking down the street when it really hit me. I looked at Joel and said “We’re going to get married.”
We had the whole rest of the week to adjust to our new status and it was kind of nice to have that time to keep our little secret just between us (and the entire city of Barcelona). It was hard for me to check my email and not reply to everyone with “OMG WE’RE GETTING MARRIED”. I checked every single picture that we uploaded to flickr to make sure that the ring wasn’t visible because I wanted our parents to be the first to know (and I sure didn’t want them to find out by seeing a picture on flickr with no explanation). When we got home on Monday night, the first thing we did (after devouring a frozen pizza) was call our families to tell them the news. I knew they would be nothing but happy for us, but I couldn’t stop myself from shaking the entire time. I was just that excited.
My parents were pretty excited, too. My dad said that he couldn’t be happier, but I think that might he might be pretty freakin excited right now, seeing as his team has just won the Super Bowl.
It’s been a good week.
