Oy. And a little bit of Vey. Guys, if you looked up Bonehead in the dictionary, you’d see my face. BONE. HEAD. Ew, I feel squirmy just thinking about it.
Let me start at the beginning.
Yesterday Paul and I had one of our lovely, rare, days off together. We decided that we would go do some errands (I had to buy a couple of gifts- Dad’s birthday and Cousin’s Bridal Shower gift) and we wanted to go to the movies, which we could all accomplish in the same area.
We started off hitting up Bed, Bath, and Beyond for a Grill Daddy for my dad for his birthday. Lovely trip, if I must say. Then we headed over to the movie theater. We saw Bridesmaids, which, in hindsight, may have been part of the reason I freaked out. After the movie, we headed next door to the mall because I needed a few things.
It started off innocently enough: looking at BBQ’s in Sears, peaking in the Puppy Store, and grabbing a pair of white sandals to wear with a new dress. Then, the mayhem started to ensue.
Paul had made a comment about all the people at the mall when we were parking, so I can tell you right off the bat that my social anxiety was a little high. I don’t like crowds. I don’t like having to zig zag (more on that) through throngs of people. I don’t like having to maneuver to get from Point A to Point B. GO HOME, PEOPLE, AND LET ME SHOP.
So as we were walking across the mall, we passed a Zales. I longingly glanced over at it (MISTAKE) and Paul asked if I wanted to go in and look. I replied, “no, no, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, I was just looking.” He pushed the issue a little, actually, claiming he wanted just an idea of what I liked, and I agreed that we could go in and look on the way out. We headed over to Victoria’s Secret to pick up a gift card for my cousin who’s wedding shower is this Saturday, and then started back across the mall.
On a side note, I HATE Victoria’s Secret. Here’s why: A) Their stuff is wayyyy too expensive, B) They don’t make things for the girls with big boobs (i.e. me), C) every 13-year-old in the state of NJ has PINK across their butts, and I don’t want to be associated with that, and D) you can’t walk in and look without being harassed by a sales associate (take note, Bath&Body Works, I’m looking at you, too, on that one!). Our trip inside involved me screaming at Paul to run for his life like he was in the Battle of Normandy. Get in. Acquire the Target (gift card). Retreat for your lives!
So, after that lovely jaunt, I was already on high stress level. Have I mentioned that I really don’t do good in crowds like that?
Ok, so he grabs my hand and we walk over to Zales. I know he felt my tension, because as we were walking in, he kept saying to me (I may have been protesting, I honestly can’t remember), “we’re just getting ideas”. And that was my mantra: We’re Just Looking for an Idea. I was literally, verbally, out-loud, saying that to myself as I navigated the shiny cases of MILLIONS OF DOLLARS of diamonds.
By the way, do diamonds look, I don’t know, extra shiny in the stores? It’s the lights in the cases, right? Because I felt so blinded I couldn’t even focus on the rings. Although, that could have been the anxiety.
So I was ok, starting to look for the affordable-yet-pretty ring section, when it happened: A Sales Associate Walked Over. KISS. OF. DEATH.
Me: We’re Just Looking for an Idea. We’re Just Looking for an Idea. We’re Just Looking for an Idea. (I’m saying this out loud, but mostly to myself.)
Sales Woman: Are we looking for ideas for an ENGAGEMENT?
Me: THIS IS TOO MUCH PRESSURE!!!!!
Sales Woman: It’s usually the man who says that….
She may have said more. I don’t know. I was halfway back through the mall at this point.
Yes, folks, in my infinite wisdom and maturity, I fled the Zales LIKE A BAT OUT OF HELL. I mean, I didn’t stop to let Paul catch up. I bobbed and weaved and power-walked my little self clear across the mall. Where was I headed? The BBQ department of Sears. Because that is Man Land.
Ok, so here’s the explanation of the freak-out.
I’ve wanted to get engaged for a while now, any of you who remotely read this blog of follow me on Twitter know that. And I’ve not been lacking in the obvious hints department with Paul. He knows this. I actually bring it up a lot, but in a light-hearted way. You see, EVERYONE keeps saying, “don’t talk about it to him, it might freak him out if you’re too pushy” and that, folks, is exactly what was on my mind yesterday.
I really, honestly meant it when I said I didn’t want to go in because I didn’t want to pressure him. Why was it too much pressure? Because when she said “ENGAGEMENT” (in all caps. Seriously. The woman spoke IN CAPS!), it triggered the thought that this was going to be too much for him. If, say, I point to a ring and (God Forbid) try it on, this is going to freak him out.
So, naturally, I freaked out instead.
And, naturally, the place to go to freak out is the BBQ section of Sears. Man Land. No engagement ring talk in Man Land.
And let me tell you, this was not just me being dramatic. My heart was in my throat. My pulse was racing. My hands were shaking. I was on the brink of hyperventilating. I was not ok. It was also 1000 degrees in Sears, so I then fled to the outdoor flower department, where I subsequently burst into tears under the cover of ficus’. I was literally having a Panic/Anxiety Attack. Because now at this point, it was not just “Paul is going to freak out,” but “Paul is going to be so pissed at me” was added in.
And he was, though he’ll never admit that he was “pissed”. His only comments to me were, “Thanks for leaving me standing there like an idiot while you zig-zagged through the mall so fast I couldn’t even keep up with you” and, later, once we were in the car and I was trying to (badly) explain myself, “If something like this freaks you out, what’s going to happen when the pressure of a wedding is there? Are you going to be a run-away bride?” Which, frankly, was a valid concern. I don’t blame him for that one.
As I thought (and over-thought) about the whole things, I think I’ve found the roots behind all this:
- It was honestly about me reacting to how I thought he was going to react instead of me waiting to see how he reacted. I have a bad habit of that. I get myself all worked up Worst-Case-Scenario-ing everything to death and things like this happen.
- I don’t want to pick my ring. I think that subconsciously played into it. He asked why I could go into the store with my mom and look and be ok, but I couldn’t with him. Because it is different. There is WAY more pressure when I’m with him. What if he doesn’t like it.? What if I pick something that’s too expensive? It’s a lot to handle. And I’ve always said I don’t want to be one of those girls who picks her ring. I want him to pick something he thinks is beautiful. I think I felt like I was betraying myself if I went in there and pointed to one.
- I’m a freaking loon.
So we went home and I curled up in bed for a grand total of 3 minutes and then marched myself out into the living room, climbed on his lap, and told him it wasn’t about the ring, or the dress, or the party; it was about our family and us, and so let’s screw the ring and the whole thing and just pick a weekend this summer and hire a Justice of the Peace and get married in my parents backyard. Yup, I basically proposed.
He thought about it, and said that I was still getting a ring and that he has a date in mind and that if I want to do the backyard thing, he’s all game for that, but I’m still getting a ring.
And then I went to the grocery store.
I made lovely roasted potatoes last night, by the way.
That’s why I love him though. He puts up with my Crazy. It doesn’t come out that often, but when it does, it usually explodes like Old Faithful, and God Bless him for putting up with it, and still, apparently, loving me afterwards.
I think that when you find the person who puts up with your Crazy, and EVERYONE has some Crazy on one level or another, you’ve found your soul mate.
And you fight like hell to keep him with you forever.