My proposal to you is going to be an all-timer. Your friends will smile through gritted, jealous teeth. Other dudes will hate me for raising the bar.
It’ll be epic.
Then you’ll have to marry me.
I’ll first pitch my idea for a simple, Peter-in-jeans-and-tshirt, ceremony overlooking the water someplace.
If you don’t go for that, I’ll mumble “Smokey and the Bandit-themed wedding?”
Once people pull you off of me, and I begin icing my black eye, you’ll start planning the blessed event — an activity for which I’ll be less than useless.
My one legit request will be to have The Monkey pushing The ACN in her wheelchair up the aisle. Of course The ACN will be giggling and considering tossing her bouquet on the floor to make me grrrr, while The Monkey sends me BBMs.
Then I’ll come with what I think are super awesome questions and suggestions.
“Do the tux rental places supply matching baseball caps, or will I have to bring my own?”
“Pancake bar! Maple syrups from various parts of Canada.”
You’ll banish me.
But you’ll forget how much of a pain in the ass I am and take me to a cake tasting. Which, considering the fact that I’m allergic to anything with flour or sugar or that casts a shadow, is kinda cruel. But, since you’re a sweetie, you’ll surprise me with a second, little cake that I’m allowed to eat. It’ll taste like drywall, with a slightly less fluffy texture, and I won’t be able to smush it in your face for fear of concussing you.
But eventually we’ll get to the big day.
You’ll say, “I do.”
I’ll reply, “You’re SUCH a lucky girl.”
You’ll hope I’m kidding.
As the reception is winding down and you escape the clutches of my flirty, dancing-machine uncle, while my family and friends are having a drinking and/or burping contest in a corner of the room, and I’m on stage with the band singing Nazareth’s “Hair of the Dog” with my bow tie tied around my head, you’ll pound wine and wonder what you got yourself into.
I’ll find you in the lobby.
I’ll strut over and flash you a smirk — as I do.
Your already big and pretty eyes will be huge and terrified.
I’ll take your little hand in mine and say…
“Babe… I have no idea why in the world you chose me. But I promise to spend every day for the rest of my life making sure you never regret the decision”
We’ll walk to the dance floor. On cue, Blue Rodeo’s “Lost Together” will start playing.
“Baby…” I’ll say.
“Yeah…” you’ll reply.
“Seriously, where are the pancakes?”
I bet you want to start your dress shopping now.