As regular readers (if I have any left) are well aware, I have rather fallen out of the habit of writing quite as regularly as I used to. The era of my highest productivity harks back to a time when I was single, and entirely convinced of my complete inability to captivate a woman who wasn't (a) ugly as sin, and (b) younger than forty. As it has always been my considered opinion that what the human race needs most is the opportunity to have a good laugh at another's expense, I regularly regaled my reading public with (sadly true) stories of my ineptitude.
However, a serendipitous concatenation of circumstances has happily proved me wrong. Contrary to most predictions that I would die alone and be subsequently gobbled up by ravenous Alsatians (or Dobermans, if you prefer that), I did end up meeting a popsy who did not see such a morbid fate for me. That was a year ago, and my blogging frequency stands testimony to that. While I might – quite fairly – lay the blame for my unproductivity at her doorstep, I think I have been most suitably recompensed in several other ways.
After spending several months in bliss, during which I blew my savings up travelling around rather a large swathe of the old continent, a brainwave struck me sometime last Christmas. I had previously been made aware of how cheap everything was on Boxing day (which, to the uninitated, falls on the 26th of December).
'Hmm, old chap, what say you about getting hitched and all that?', said the fevered bit of my mind to the rest.
'Get engaged? Are you insane? Do you know how much rings cost!?'
'It's Boxing Day, mate. Discounts!'
So, the aforementioned popsy and I walked along to Princes street in Edinburgh, which wa s where I knew I would find the discounted ring my fevered mind spoke so highly of. But first, I had to get rid of her.
'Hey, look, Next has a sale!', said I.
'Cool, let's pop by and take a look.', said she, rather unhelpfully.
'No, I'd rather not.'
'Oh okay then, let's just walk around'
'No, I think they're selling lingerie there. And I'd rather avoid the embarassment of looking like a perv checking out women's underwear. You go ahead.'
After I'd got rid of her, I scooted off to the Swarovski outlet to pick a ring up. I hadn't bargained on one thing, though – a smiling helpful salesperson angling for a tip for her role in executing what is probably the most important decision in one's life.
After staving her repeated attempts to be excessively helpful, and trying not to blush as she kept throwing knowing looks at me, I managed to pick a ring that looked just about right.
Now, what a sensible bloke would do would be to book a place at a swanky restaurant for that evening, and take yon popsy there to pop the question. But I'm not a sensible bloke; worse still, I am parsimonious to a fault.
So, I dragged her along to a Starbucks and popped the question.
And incredibly enough, she said Yes!
(I got rather an earful for asking a question as important as this at a place like Starbucks, and did end up having to pay for an expensive restaurant. Also, my ring selection skills left much to be desired – we returned to Swarovski to exchange the ring for another.)
Anyway, there you have it, folks – I'm engaged to be married. :)
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