For the contest, you email Laura with the details of that special moment when your hubby proposed.
Oh, it was special all right. Let me ghostwrite for you Shannon’s Husband’s Guide to Proposing to a Romance Writer:
1—Somewhere around Thanksgiving, plop that gift right on top of the entertainment center. Every girl worth her Barbies knows what a ring box looks like, even wrapped, and every day for the next month will be horrible, agonizing torture for her. You want to soften her up for the big event by driving her mad.
2–On December 23rd, let the romance writer negotiate her way into opening it early—family parties, etc, etc. She is good at excuses, after all. Then, for the rest of your natural life, still think you proposed on Christmas Eve. Women like excuses to roll their eyes at you.
3—When the moment comes, regress heavily into your taciturn, uncomfortable-with-emotions Yankee roots. If you’re not a Yankee, pretend. It’s very important that your expression say “I’d really rather be polishing the chrome on my bike.”
4—Watch your beloved’s shaking hands try to save the bow…and the tape…and the paper…and mutter “Just :censor: open the :censor: :censor: thing already!”
5—When she opens the lid, clear your throat and say in a tense voice “Well…do you want it?”
And there you have it. Be still my romantic soul.
Although, if he had hired a skywriter or gotten down on one knee, it would have been so out of character for him, I probably would have gotten confused and laughed at him.
Lest we think he’s a total emotional dud, however, you should see him with our boys. No manly throat clearing and back-clapping in our house. He totally, unabashedly adores his kids, and he makes sure he tells them each several times a day, and no matter what comes up in their lives, they know Dad’s in their corner. And when, at the end of the day, I watch my boys shoved in on either side of Dad in his recliner, either jabbering away or reading a story or watching TV, I never think Gee, I wish he’d buy me flowers.