say a little shrilly, “of course I want to see the scenes.”
We sit through the scenes. Next week’s episode seems to revolve around Heidi Jane and her tremendous boobage having a series of bouncy adventures in an exotic locale as other contestants scowl and plot to get rid of her behind her undoubtedly aching back.
“Isn’t that a repeat?” Jack asks.
“No, it said ‘all new.’”
“I was being funny.”
“Oh.” I snicker. Sort of. “So how was your mom?”
“Fine…remember? You just asked?”
“Oh! Right. I did. Sorry.”
Ask me to marry you, dammit!
It is so Beggar’s Night. At least right here, right now.
I try to calm myself down, lest I accidentally wrap my hands around Jack’s neck and start shaking him.
Out of sheer love, of course.
“Listen…” He shifts his weight on the couch. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“What is it?” I ask, managing to sound calm, wondering if he’s going to get down on his knee.
Here it comes!
OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod!!
This is so exciting! Can you stand it?
Me neither!
Then—hey, wait a minute!—I wonder why he isn’t going into the bedroom or something first, to get the ring. Does he have it stashed right here by the couch?
I give the vicinity a quick once-over for a telltale ring box that might have been under my nose all along.
Is it in the philodendron saucer?
No-o.
The messy stack of newspapers and magazines, mostly his?
No-o.
The nearly empty bowl of candy corn, mostly mine?
No-o.
I swear I feel like I’m mentally reading Where’s Spot?, which was my nephew Nino’s favorite book when he was a baby.
Where are you, Spot?
Where are you, sparkling diamond engagement ring?
“First, it was my mother’s idea,” he says. “Not mine.”
Okay, is this the most unromantic proposal preamble in the history of proposals, or what?
“Not that I don’t want you to say yes, but…I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it and I don’t want you to feel obligated. I was going to wait to ask but my mother’s really impatient…She’d ask you herself, but I told her I wanted to.”
I’m stunned into dismayed silence.
She’d ask me herself?
Major Oedipal issues, anyone?
Good Lord.
How could I not have noticed until now how unhealthy his relationship with his mother really is?
“Tracey, would you possibly consider…”
His proposal is drowned out by the roar of disbelieving anguish in my brain.
This isn’t his idea! This is his mother’s idea! Look at him! He doesn’t look like a man in love! He looks like a man who ate bad shrimp for lunch!
“What?” I ask dully, shaking my head to clear it.
He repeats the proposal…
Which isn’t a proposal!
He’s not proposing to me!
Hallelujah!
Make that semi-hallelujah.
I mean, I want him to propose…but not like this.
What a relief that this isn’t the big moment after all!
What this is, in fact, is an invitation to spend Thanksgiving with Jack’s family in Westchester.
The reason it’s such a big deal is that I have never not gone home to Brookside for Thanksgiving.
In a family where you’re excommunicated for forgetting an octogenarian’s birthday, you can just imagine the reaction if you skip a major holiday.
That hasn’t even been an option for me…
Until now.
But is it, really? My parents would be crushed. My siblings would be pissed. And my grandmother…well, if she hasn’t already written me out of her will for moving away, I think it’s safe to say this would clinch my not getting her bone china settings for eight and a cut of her passbook savings.
Then again…I’m all grown up.
I have a life of my own now. In New York.
A life with Jack.
Wouldn’t it be more natural to spend Thanksgiving with him than with my family, since Jack’s the person I share my daily life with now?
There are two ways of looking at that.
One is that Jack’s the person I share my daily life with now, meaning I see him daily…so shouldn’t I share special
We sit through the scenes. Next week’s episode seems to revolve around Heidi Jane and her tremendous boobage having a series of bouncy adventures in an exotic locale as other contestants scowl and plot to get rid of her behind her undoubtedly aching back.
“Isn’t that a repeat?” Jack asks.
“No, it said ‘all new.’”
“I was being funny.”
“Oh.” I snicker. Sort of. “So how was your mom?”
“Fine…remember? You just asked?”
“Oh! Right. I did. Sorry.”
Ask me to marry you, dammit!
It is so Beggar’s Night. At least right here, right now.
I try to calm myself down, lest I accidentally wrap my hands around Jack’s neck and start shaking him.
Out of sheer love, of course.
“Listen…” He shifts his weight on the couch. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“What is it?” I ask, managing to sound calm, wondering if he’s going to get down on his knee.
Here it comes!
OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod!!
This is so exciting! Can you stand it?
Me neither!
Then—hey, wait a minute!—I wonder why he isn’t going into the bedroom or something first, to get the ring. Does he have it stashed right here by the couch?
I give the vicinity a quick once-over for a telltale ring box that might have been under my nose all along.
Is it in the philodendron saucer?
No-o.
The messy stack of newspapers and magazines, mostly his?
No-o.
The nearly empty bowl of candy corn, mostly mine?
No-o.
I swear I feel like I’m mentally reading Where’s Spot?, which was my nephew Nino’s favorite book when he was a baby.
Where are you, Spot?
Where are you, sparkling diamond engagement ring?
“First, it was my mother’s idea,” he says. “Not mine.”
Okay, is this the most unromantic proposal preamble in the history of proposals, or what?
“Not that I don’t want you to say yes, but…I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it and I don’t want you to feel obligated. I was going to wait to ask but my mother’s really impatient…She’d ask you herself, but I told her I wanted to.”
I’m stunned into dismayed silence.
She’d ask me herself?
Major Oedipal issues, anyone?
Good Lord.
How could I not have noticed until now how unhealthy his relationship with his mother really is?
“Tracey, would you possibly consider…”
His proposal is drowned out by the roar of disbelieving anguish in my brain.
This isn’t his idea! This is his mother’s idea! Look at him! He doesn’t look like a man in love! He looks like a man who ate bad shrimp for lunch!
“What?” I ask dully, shaking my head to clear it.
He repeats the proposal…
Which isn’t a proposal!
He’s not proposing to me!
Hallelujah!
Make that semi-hallelujah.
I mean, I want him to propose…but not like this.
What a relief that this isn’t the big moment after all!
What this is, in fact, is an invitation to spend Thanksgiving with Jack’s family in Westchester.
The reason it’s such a big deal is that I have never not gone home to Brookside for Thanksgiving.
In a family where you’re excommunicated for forgetting an octogenarian’s birthday, you can just imagine the reaction if you skip a major holiday.
That hasn’t even been an option for me…
Until now.
But is it, really? My parents would be crushed. My siblings would be pissed. And my grandmother…well, if she hasn’t already written me out of her will for moving away, I think it’s safe to say this would clinch my not getting her bone china settings for eight and a cut of her passbook savings.
Then again…I’m all grown up.
I have a life of my own now. In New York.
A life with Jack.
Wouldn’t it be more natural to spend Thanksgiving with him than with my family, since Jack’s the person I share my daily life with now?
There are two ways of looking at that.
One is that Jack’s the person I share my daily life with now, meaning I see him daily…so shouldn’t I share special
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