All I knew is that we were going on a trip somewhere. It was Thanksgiving, and we didn’t have any plans for the four-day weekend, so we decided to head not-too-far from home for a night for a short but sweet weekend away. In response to a sizable sigh when he looked to me to plan the getaway, he said he would plan it, and it became a surprise for me. (Ok, maybe I suggested it be a surprise? Who remembers…)
Did I know this was the pop-the-question weekend? Not for sure, but I strongly suspected it.
Four months earlier, we had decided to buy rings together. I am… particular… about jewelry (and laundry, and buttering toast, and using semicolons…), and I’m not terribly traditional when it comes to most things. Walking around together in the Mission district of San Francisco one day, we stumbled upon an adorable store, and they had a ring that I thought was nice. They had a ring he thought was nice too, so we (he) bought one for each of us. $1,200 for the both of them. It would be the most expensive piece of jewelry (by a longshot) that either of us has owned, and it was about ten times less expensive than most of our friends pay. Win.
Rings in hand (well, in a safe we bought just for them), I asked him to propose. Picking out the ring is the hard part, right? I just wanted him to ask the question without making him ask me the question. Which is silly, but the whole thing is kinda silly, so why not keep with the theme?
So, Saturday morning, November 26th, we started driving north out of San Francisco. I was excited. Surprises (at least planned ones) don’t happen much for adults. Where were we headed? Napa? Bolinas? Mendocino? It didn’t matter; it was just fun to be doing something new and different.
We rolled into Sonoma around noon; we were having lunch at The Girl & The Fig, a cute little restaurant on the main town square that we’d been once before. After lunch, we took a quick stroll around the town square, but it was raining, so we headed back to the car. We continued driving north, and I didn’t realize where we had meandered until we were pulling into The Gaige House in Glen Ellen, a cozy inn where we had stayed on our first weekend trip together over three years earlier. We had the best time before; I was so happy to return!
Last time, the weather had been perfection, and we were able to enjoy the pool, hot tub, and hammock nestled in the leafy backyard of the inn. This time the rain prevented outdoor lounging, but our incredible Zen suite, in-house massage session, and complimentary wine and cheese hour in the cozy communal front parlor more than made up for it.
After arriving, ogling our enchanting room, and enjoying a massage in the remodeled attic space in the Victorian portion of the inn, we headed back to our room for a glass of wine and a soak in the giant stone bathtub. It was pretty much the most relaxing setting ever, as we watched the drizzle in the private Zen garden right outside our window.
While I relaxed, my boyfriend was more nervous than I knew.
After our soak, we were lounging around the room when he started to tell me how great I was and how much he loved me. While sweet, it was uncharacteristically gushy of him, so I was somewhat confused. I had completely forgotten about our cute little rings tucked away in the safe in our basement, and, as he continued, he slowly pulled out my tiny ring and asked if I would marry him.
I said yes, of course. And we shared happy giggles and I soon found out how odd it felt to wear a ring on that finger on my left hand. The rest of our weekend was lovely and filled with delicious food and quiet walks in the sunshine.
We discussed the next question, which was obviously The Date. We wanted a small wedding, so we were aiming for spring of the following year. Which gave us fewer than six months to plan a wedding. And thus the adventure of A Muse Gets Married begins.