Consider it Done.

I was cranky last Saturday morning. It was hot, I was hung-over, and after a grueling week at work, I felt weak with exhaustion. I didn’t want to go out. Didn’t want to sit still, so off to the Home Depot I went. My charming, adorable girlfriend was fresh as a daisy. Well-rested and beautiful, she threw on a summer-dress and appeased me as she often does by allowing me a few minutes among the hardware supplies.

“We should paint the living room today,” I said in a harsh tone. “I’m tired of brown, I want white! I say we lock ourselves in the house, put on a movie, and crank the A/C while we paint away!”

“Babe,” she said, “I don’t feel good about that. I need time to mentally prepare for something like that. Maybe next weekend?"

I glanced over at my lady love and smiled. She was in a cotton, black and white checked skirt and a tight black top. I shuffled on in my flip flops and ripped jeans and sighed.

“Maybe you’re right. Looking at all the supplies we’ll need to carry back is actually making me tired. Let’s just go home and sleep the day away.”

I felt as though I was dragging my own skin behind me in the wet summer heat. We got to the house and crashed. After an hour of sitting in front of the air-conditioning watching the Food Network, she rolled over and smiled at me, “Let’s have the best day ever.”

I actually laughed at her bright little eyes. How could anyone be so cheerful on such a dreadfully hot day. Even the idea of it made me tired.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go to lunch! If you could go anywhere for lunch, where would it be?”

“I don’t know; the diner is close.”

She smiled half-heartedly and agreed to accompany me to the diner where I picked at my food and tried to match her level of optimism.

“Hey,” she said after our food had gone. “I wanna give you your birthday present a bit early so that you can prepare.”

“Ok…” I said suspiciously. I tried to lift my spirits.

She slid a long thin box across the table and asked me to open it. I did, only to find a photo-shopped version of my passport with a funny picture of me on page one. On page two, she had a beautiful picture of old France, and the glaring words “I’m taking you to Paris.” On the next page was a picture of a luxury airline and the words “Business Class,” and on the final page a picture of our hotel.

I didn’t know what to say. There have been very few times in my life where my precious words have failed me, and this was most definitely one. I stood up and hugged her. “I thought you might want a few weeks to get ready—I didn’t plan anything but the flights and the hotel. We can plan our trip together!”

“This IS the best day ever!” I said. “We have to go to Barnes & Noble to get some books on Paris!" I realize a normal person would have rushed home in a fit of passion, but my mind went instantly to books. Oh writers.

“I thought you might say that!” She squealed!

And off we went to B& N.

When we arrived in the travel section, she tapped me on the shoulder. “What book is that?” She asked, and I turned around to find one lonesome copy of a book, nestled on an almost empty shelf.

I reached for it as though it were a mirage and chuckled. It was my book, my title, my name on the cover:



“What did you do, my love? How many dreams can you make come true in one day?”

“I don’t know,” she said grinning, “read the back.”

On the back she had printed:

“For Anne: the most talented, intelligent, creative, and beautiful woman in the world. Thank you for teaching me so many meanings to the word ‘happy’ Will you marry me?”

I gasped. I remember looking down, seeing her on one knee, in her black and white skirt, holding a tiny, velvet nut (yes, that's right, a nut). Her big smiled widened further as she said, "I'm nuts about you, will you marry me?"



I whisperered the word “Yes.” Into her ear. And looked down to find the most perfect ring on my finger.


We stood there, in the travel section of Barnes & Noble, hugging quietly for a long time.

I bought a few books on Paris (none on lesbian clubs—if anyone out there has a recommendation, I’d love to hear it!). And as we exited out into Union Square, a group of hipster kids holding guitars & tambourines shouted from across the street: “Hey Anne! Congratulations!” And they began playing the song I say always reminds me of Bec (Postal Service: Such Great Heights). As we walked toward them, they whipped out a dozen orange roses and congratulated us. We walked home—or maybe we sailed. I can’t be too sure.

That night, we were all set to grab sushi at the restaurant below our apartment with friends, but yet again, my socks were knocked off when we walked through the door to huge screams of "SUPRISE!" and a wave of warmth from my entire family and many of our friends. And my most honest friends said to me, "This was an incredible undertaking on the part of your fiance--how ever will you compete???"
And I said, "Consider it done."

Stay tuned for a future entry wherein I attempt to top this magical experience.