On Thursday, Brian came home from an awful day at work. It was 11:30 at night and he was pretty wound up and upset. He needed to talk it out, but eventually he was just going in circles. I wasn't sure how to help him, and we were both becoming frustrated. We didn't fully sort it out, and by about 1:30 in the morning, I was ready to crash. So we turned out the lights, and I pulled up the covers and tried to go to sleep.

But Brian was still there, standing at the end of the bed. His knee was jangling up and down and I could tell he was still either upset or very nervous. I asked him what was going on and he said something like, "I'm trying to figure out if I should ask you something."

"Well, just say it 'cause I really want to go to sleep."

He was quiet for a few moments, and his knee kept jangling. Then he blurted out, "Will you marry me?"

"Wait... what?! Um... Maybe? I mean, yes maybe? I guess?"

This was probably the worst, most crushing thing I'd ever said to my boyfriend. He collapsed in a pile next to me. He was worried that he'd screwed up what was supposed to be a Very Big Moment. He had planned to get a ring, ask my father's permission, and plan something really romantic. Instead... brain explosion!

My response didn't help, of course. But the most I'd ever thought about getting married was, you know, that it would be nice if we took advantage of the cheap health plan at work. I just never really planned on it. I'm deliberate and practical; I love Brian, I love living with him. We have a mortgage and a cat and a dishwasher -- what more do I need?

So now our hero is lying next to me semi-comatose in shock, lamenting his ruined plans and terrified that he'd just made the biggest mistake in his life. He's fading fast, so I say, "Will you marry me?"

"We're not supposed to do it that way!" comes his muffled response. His head was buried under a pillow.

"Whatever," I say, getting up and turning on the lights. "Look, will you marry me? I mean, really. I can ask too." Maybe it was the shock of the lights, or my jumping out of bed, but Brian comes out of his coma with a vengeance. He leaps up and starts running around the house. The living room. His office. Back to our room. He rushes past me and grabs the first thing he can find: A black, plastic, halloween spider ring that our cat likes to use as a toy.

Thus dubiously armed, he drops down to one knee and asks, "Mary, will you marry me?"

"Yes!"

Pause. He gets this huge, stupid grin on his face. And then suddenly, he looks pensive and a little worried.

"Um... Which finger do I put it on?"

Dork.

And that, folks, is how things get done around here. Those who saw that fake joke post on Facebook heard about it first, if they realized what they were seeing. Since then, a kjillion people have asked me about the details, the date, the location. I just laugh -- we still don't even have the "real" ring yet.

Brian and I are looking forward to throwing a party at some point in the future. We promise to let you know when that's happening...