shell-and-ashley_largeA Provincetown Proposal
Ocean breezes inspire this witty woman to pop the question with a kiss

It was June 4, 2009 at about 10 p.m. when a late night chat session on OK Cupid hit pay dirt; Ashley agreed to meet me in Harvard Square’s Black Ink, a museum of useful things, as in icebreakers, the following day.

I had agreed to meet a sweet, redheaded graphic designer who’d just moved from Houston to Boston in search of work, explaining how she was sick of planning for the future and was ready to start living for today. She had no idea what to expect from me beyond the color of my green cardigan and my more to-the-point conversation style. I considered this as working to my advantage and to be even more to the point, I was only looking for a fling.

Unbeknownst to me, this turned out to be Ashley’s second date of the day, which, if you can believe it, had been her first date ever. I was immediately smitten that she had beat me at my own game, though so new to it.

That night, we bonded over art, food and music, but where hipster culture met personal histories, we couldn’t have been more different or eager to hear the other out. To be clearer, we’re not different like chocolate and vanilla ice cream but more like ice cream and … a radish.

We experienced more in the next year together than each of our single selves had alone; something like a relationship double bounce: new jobs, art buying, so many firsts to rival even Columbus.

That year we’d been planning on vacationing in Provincetown, and decided our anniversary was the perfect excuse for a getaway.  A few visits to David Yurman along with calls to Ashley’s siblings confirmed that this would also be the perfect date to pop the question. With love and the smell of the sea in the air, I planned to ask her to
marry me.

Over the last 12 months, special occasions were punctuated with homemade gifts and creatively named and executed kisses. For example, for our first Halloween I made a jack-o’-lantern face and eerily glided in for a landing on Ashley’s (giggling) mouth.

The “will you marry me kiss” was simple. I kissed her as I slipped the ring on her finger, implying the question.

She said yes.

We will be married on September 3 at The Ames Hotel in Boston, in a small intimate ceremony among close family and friends.

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