"Grammar makes a world of difference..."

I never thought I'd spend so much time crying when I got engaged. Especially considering the fact that I knew I was getting engaged. You know, eventually. But engaged to this person was the point. Yet there I was, sitting in my intended's lap, out on the patio in the middle of the night, sobbing and laughing uncontrollably.

We'd had this conversation many times before, with one crucial difference. The question had always been "Would you marry me," (implicating 'if I asked') as opposed to "Will you marry me." But contrary to what I thought, grammar did make a world of difference, and I became a tearfully happy fiancee.

It was quite a surreal experience as I'd just flown in to Birmingham, England from my home of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in the US. In fact, I think I'll lay some of the blame for my unsteady character that night on jetlag. And alcohol. Not that I don't recognize the fact that delirious happiness was probably most of the cause. We were staying with friends of His that I'd just met that afternoon, and a few others of His childhood friends had swung in for a visit. I accepted the congratulatory hugs and He accepted congratulatory ribbings. We had a marvelous celebration involving quite a bit more alcohol, lots of toasts, and some delicious take-out curries.

The next morning was a bit less surreal. It began with Him saying "We have to call your parents." This was a tricky one, as they'd never met Him in person, though they had been through many telephone and web camera conversations. And they were aware that this occasion would be arriving in the future. Would, not will. Naturally, we put it off and went to the Birmingham Jewelry Quarter first.

Ring shopping was just as much fun as I would have imagined. With the aid of a lovely shopkeeper I absolutely destroyed all of the shop's display windows before I chose the third ring I'd tried on and the first I'd liked. The entire process took about two hours, with my faithful fiance standing by. It probably could have been much shorter, but it wasn't until thirty minutes into debating between the ring I liked in yellow gold or platinum (silver, as my oft-chastised fiance called it) that I thought to see which color would also look good on His finger. Ten seconds later, platinum it was. We left the shop with the instructions to stop back in an hour to pick up the fitted, completed ring. It was time to phone my parents.

He took a walk down the busy street, phone to ear, while I shifted from foot to foot on the pavement and blessed the rain that made it less obvious that I had tears in my eyes. And I waited. And waited. What seemed like hours later but was in reality about ten minutes He came strolling back all smiles. He was celebrating with my mom and dad, and passed the phone to me to join in on my parents' blessings. The Cloud of Euphoria prevents me from accurately recollecting everything my parents said while I was once more laughing and crying (this time on a busy street) but I do remember my mom telling me that she and my dad were sitting on the couch hugging and, surprise, laughing and crying. I hung up with the promise to send pictures as soon as I had my ring. Incidentally, when we picked it up I laughed and cried some more while the shopkeeper continually commented that she'd never seen anyone look so happy.

That night at a barbecue that had been arranged for Him and his friends, whom he hadn't seen in the several years he'd been abroad, I was introduced as his fiancee. The festivities were large, joyous and loving, and thanks to the marvel that is Skype my family were able to join in on a bit.

I was engaged. I was in love. Life just sparkled.