jason-and-michael_largeEverything’s coming up roses
After a long courtship, the big question is popped

 

It was early November 2003: A lame Christmas party I didn’t even want to go to simply because of the fact that Halloween was just one week before! My friend, Devon, begged me not to make him feel like the loser and attend a party by himself where he only knew the host.

Eight months out of a previous relationship, all I wanted to do was stay at home and waste away like the budding drama queen I certainly was. I went, and honestly, I truly believe it was the best decision I made. I walked in and saw him: a 6-feet-5-inches-tall grinning god with dark hair, lean body wearing a black sweater. He would later become known to my annoyed friends as “black-sweater boy.” I had spent so much of my time looking down that I always forgot to look up. We made eye contact, which never happens with someone I’m instantly attracted to. He was the only one I saw and all I could think about was the embarrassing zit on my face doing a tap dance for him.

For an hour or so, I kept trying to build up the courage to talk to him, but couldn’t do it. We’d always seem to inch closer, but that only made the connection awkward. He left with his friends shortly after and I immediately became obsessed. Luckily, I knew someone that knew a friend of a friend of a friend of his (yes, that pathetic). I even went on the Internet to track him down—psychotic much? It wasn’t until I was at a club in Athens with a bunch of friends that I randomly ran into him again two weeks later.

My heart literally stopped when he walked in. It nearly shot out of my mouth when I saw him walk up to the guy that was the reason for the ending of my last relationship. I wanted to cry, but like a strong, black and independent woman, I knew I’d move on. As it turned out, the guy that he walked up to had recently dumped him and they were just saying hello. Afterward, the mutual friend introduced us. I was shaking and all I could think about was what it would be like to date this guy … someone I’d met offline (for a change) and was so intrigued by.

It wasn’t long before our first date. I think we both aimed at trying the hard to get scheme, but it wasn’t long before we couldn’t get enough of seeing each other. The first time he held my hand, I pretended to be asleep on the way home from a date. He held it the entire way. I was impressed; I get too fidgety when I drive.

It wasn’t too long after that things started to get more serious. We both waited to be in love before we made it official. Our lesbian sisters became best friends, and each one of us became apart of each other’s loving—though sometimes reluctant to understand—families.

After five years, our first home and dog together, I knew it was time to pop the question. I had the idea planned for quite some time. The only thing left to do was torture him with the anticipation. Would it come for our five-year anniversary in November? No. Christmas? No. New Year’s? No. Valentine’s Day? Nope! It was the day after Valentine’s Day—a Sunday. Everything was planned accordingly. Knowing how aggravated he was at this point (to my delight), his sister would ask him to go shopping with him, though I was slightly worried, because most lesbians I know are like me when they shop for clothes: in and out the door in 10 minutes. Nevertheless, I knew she’d pull through for me. I picked up the white roses and the 500 tea lights (complete pyro, I know), dug the ring out of my secret hiding spot and prepared my suit. Each of the five roses was in its own vase, which would stand behind a card representing each year we’d been together. Inside each card was a memory we both had shared.

It was getting down to it. Michael’s sister called to say he was 20 minutes away. All I had left to do was light the tea lights. Anybody who knows anything about tea lights knows that when you first light them, it takes at least two seconds to light each one because of the wax on the wick—needless to say, I was panicked. I called her back to divert him, where she promptly replied to say get off the phone and F****** light the lights! Things were going great.

Luckily for me, his obnoxious exhaust on his truck was loud enough to be a signal for me to get into position. As I lit the last few, I turned to run down the hall to the bedroom and inadvertently blew out eight lights doing so! I had just enough time to hit the play button for my proposal music and relight the blown out lights just as he walked in. After reading each of his cards, he walked down to the end of the hallway leading to our bedroom where a big bouquet of the white roses was sitting by our door with a card in front.

It read: “Please spend the rest of your life with me filling millions of these cards with wonderful memories.” He opened the door, where I knelt with the ring in my hand. It’s easy to say we were both in tears at this point. No need to say what his answer was. 😉

Coming up on seven years in November, I couldn’t feel more blessed. Although I may not be able to remember what he got me for my birthday three years ago, I can still remember that smile he had on his face when I first saw him as if it were yesterday. He’s the only one I know that can put up with me no matter how much of a bad mood I’m in or how much I take him for granted. There is no one else I want to spend the rest of life with, no other black-sweater boy. We’ve had our problems, like every other couple, but they only make us stronger. We finish each other’s sentences. I know when he says two sugars that he actually meant three. He knows that when I say I’m OK that I only need him to tell me everything is going to be all right. I’d give my life for him without thinking about it and would do it again and again.

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