This past weekend, as many of you know, I got engaged to Michael Carol Barrell. That's not his real middle name, but I think it should be, because it rhymes. And it's a lady name.
I made a Wedding page. I can't wait to update it with my bridal party bios. Is that weird? That's all I care about doing. All the other stuff, shoot me.
I'm going to try to update this blog for family and friends, not too often, don't worry.
It's been four days since Mike got down on one knee at a beach in Dennis. I was perched on my beach chair, two inches off the ground. If anyone saw us (which they didn't, the nearest person was a quarter mile away), it would have looked like Mike was squatting in front me, letting out a fart or picking something out of my teeth.
Instead, he was very sweet and babbling things like "you're stuck with me, you're stuck with me!" in a really cute, slightly panicked tone after I said yes. It was perfectly planned and executed by Mr. B and it was definitely a surprise overall. Over the course of the day, however, I grew more suspicious because our plans seemed rigid, and usually making plans is maddening ("want to go here?" I don't know, do you? I don't know, sure, no? Maybe not. Or do you want to?" and so on). But because he (and our sneaky parents) were so calm, I kept thinking, "no, no one is acting weird, nah - not happening. I wonder what I'll get for dinner."
The poor guy. I don't own one ring. Not one. I've never told him what I like or want, and he's never asked. I never even uttered the word "engaged" until we talked about buying a house. But he did very, very good. Now he's stuck with ME.
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