I wanted you guys to be the first to know: I’m not engaged.
It was my birthday last week. I turned 32. I tried not to remind myself that I always thought I would well and truly have my shit together at 32. I have shit, and it is definitely not together.
It’s only my second birthday with Boyf. Last year he totally outdid himself with birthday gifts – he did have hints in the form of links to everything I ‘needed’ for my birthday. This year the poor guy got left to his own devices, and the result was a set of weight lifting wraps. Yes, I am that hard core.
We went for dinner with my parents, dad was a few bourbons deep (pretty much unheard of), mum was high on life (the norm) It was the call from Nan that started it: “Did you get diamonds? Maybe you’ll get diamonds this weekend. Hhmmmmm?”
Boyf was in the bathroom and mum leans in “when is he going to propose? Has he said anything to you about getting engaged? Could he be thinking of asking this weekend?” I’m not sure mum, p’raps you could ask him?
Boyf had planned a weekend away, and it was like everyone was in on a secret except me. The girls at work were convinced he was going to propose. Almost all of my friends were committed to the idea of some knee dropping. My sister had decided there was definitely going to be some question popping. In transit there were a few texts: “Have a great weekend *winky face* xx”.
I know there’s no ring, there’s no cash for a ring (and there’s sure as shit no cash for us to throw a helluva party). I know there’s definitely no intention to be asking me to live happily ever after with him when I’ve been a hormonal nightmare for a week…OK, maybe two weeks… After all this hype though, I jumped on board the engagement train. Maybe he is?!?! Oh gosh, what am I going to wear?!?
All of a sudden the weight lifting straps made sense. He got me weight lifting straps, because there was something small and sparkly still to come. That happened to a friend of mine, she flew home from work after being onsite in the Pilbara for Christmas and New Years, and her partner got her nothing for Christmas. Nothing that is, except a gosh darn engagement ring.
Friday night was a no go. I dropped lip because Boyf insisted we clean the house before we went away. I do not subscribe to the notion of housework. I especially do not buy in to this housework business on a Friday night, after a shit week at work, when I am sober.
I also (completely irrationally) thought that instead of finishing work early and going to the gym, Boyf could have come home and cleaned the shower, the bath, the toilet and the basin, done the dishes and put on two loads of washing, so that when I got home, the day after my birthday, the housework was done (I told you I was hormonal).
We arrive at the cabin, which is nothing like the pictures online. In my head, I had decided we were staying here, and when we turned up it looked nothing like the pictures (I was accusing the owners of false advertising, misrepresentation, entrapment, you name it), it turns out that boyf had actually booked this place (and the pics make it look a lot less overgrown than it is). Talk about jumping to conclusions and false accusations!
Maybe Saturday morning was the plan. He suggests a walk to a waterfall. We get to the waterfall, and he’s being a bit weird. I’m pretty sure that he’s got something in his pocket. I really should have put on some BB cream as well as mascara. It would have been a good idea to attempt to tame my mane. He’s lingering around the waterfall, making small talk about rapids and white water rafting and kayaking…and then we walk back to the cabin.
It’s not going to happen at the cabin. Especially because I’ve been complaining about it being an ice box since we arrived. The matches don’t light and the firewood is wet. My hands are so cold that the ring would slip right off. I’m still banging on that the pictures showed it with lake frontage and a couple of kayaks, and I’m sure that there was a fold out couch on which to watch Game of Thrones, and a lovely outdoor area for cheese and crackers and wine and a marriage proposal.
We arrive at Polynesian Spa half an hour early. He suggests we “go for a drive” and I say “na, let’s just go in”. Then I think “shit, maybe he wants to propose pre-massage?” and so I say “unless you want to go for a drive that is. Do you want to go for a drive?”. “Na” he says, “it’s cool, let’s just go in”.
As lovely as it is, Polynesian Spa wasn’t really the place to propose. Although I’m sure it was hard to resist me in my robe with my top knot and red face.
Back to the ice box, with no water views, no kayaks, no fold out couch and no lovely outdoor area for cheese and crackers and wine and a marriage proposal. We watch a couple of crucial Game of Thrones eps, which boyf pauses mid scene so he can watch a Super 15 semi final. It definitely wasn’t a good idea to drop a knee after that. Rugby?? On my birthday weekend??
Sunday was a new day. He’d suggested we climb the Mount. Sounds like a great place to propose if you ask me…
Plan change: we’ll climb Papamoa Hills. We head off, he walks at least two metres ahead. I mention that perhaps since we’re going to for a walk together, we could walk together. Just throwing it out there. Then I think that maybe he’s scouting for suitable places to pop the question…should cease the nagging.
We get to the summit. He’s being a bit weird. This is it. He suggests we walk along this little track to a picnic table overlooking the ocean and a couple of cute cows. I suggest we take a selfie (“kids, here’s the picture we took two minutes before your father asked me to marry him”). We sit on the picnic table for a bit, and then he pats me on thigh and says “come on babe, let’s go”.
Let’s go?? Um, aren’t you forgetting something? Like a bent knee, and a diamond ring, and a very important question? Well no, it appears not.
We got back to the car, and I felt really sad. Disappointed, and sad. How did this happen?? It didn’t even cross my mind that he would propose in a place of no significance to either of us, with an imaginary ring, but I’ve got myself all caught up in the moment. I’m as convinced as everyone else that this is the weekend it’s going to happen, and we are fast running out of weekend.
The best bit: I told him that I was upset that he hadn’t proposed, I said that I didn’t think he was going to, but everyone thought he was going to, so that made me think that he was going to, even though at first I didn’t think that we would, but now I’m upset that he hasn’t. And he laughs. Not just a snigger, or a chuckle, he was roaring with laughter at the traffic lights. At this point I managed not to cry.
So there you go. You’re all the first to know, that I wasn’t proposed to in the weekend. We’re on holiday in five weeks. No pressure Boyf, no pressure.