Note: Yes. I am finally getting around to blogging about wedding plans (hurrah!). I’ve been debating setting up a separate blog for a while now, strictly for wedding talk (because I don’t want to annoy anyone) but the truth is, one blog is hard enough for me to keep up with, and I don’t want to half-ass two of them. So here’s the deal: On Wednesdays, I will dive into the crazy world of weddings and all their majesty, and the rest of the week, you will be spared from my bridal tales. Cool? Rock on. Let’s get started…

When I woke up on St. Patrick’s Day 2008, I had no idea that by the time I went to sleep, I’d be standing at the edge of a world filled with taffeta and fondant, about to take a flying leap. But things happen when you least expect them, they say. Or, in my case, when you sort of expect them, then second guess yourself, only to be proven absolutely right anyway. Allow me to explain…

St. Patrick’s Day was almost over, and I was cranking out the last paragraphs of a review of David French’s Leaving Home.  Not exactly the wild St. Patty’s Day I’d envisioned, but with only a few weeks of journalism school left, I was moving full speed ahead and had no time for green beer or dancing on the bar at Pogue Mahone. (Okay, there may have been a green beer or two in there somewhere, but definitely no bar dancing.) Napping beside me was my boyfriend, the fabulous B-rad, who coincidentally has been one of my best friends since we met in university in 2002 (which you may remember from this post). We’d been dating for nearly two years at that point and I had a feeling that he was going to pop The Question sometime in the near future. But as the clock crept closer to midnight, it seemed highly unlikely that today would be The Day.

Then he stopped napping.

Twenty minutes and a confusing-to-anyone-who-isn’t-us conversation later, he was on one knee in front of me with a little green box in his hand, carefully reciting the sweetest speech I have ever heard. (The kind of speech that has made grown women cry upon re-telling, I kid you not.) And as I’ve always been incredibly articulate when it comes to Brad, I looked at him with a stunned expression, blinked a few times and said, “Come again?”

He: “I said, will you marry me?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I’m going to need you to run that by me one more time.”

He (laughing): “Will you marry me?”

When I finally managed to squeak out a “Yes!” between tears and hugs, he reminded me that there was a ring I hadn’t looked at yet. And let me tell you, when I finally took a peek, it was the most perfect and beautiful thing I’d ever seen. A Claddagh engagement ring (yes, that’s it in the photo… and yes, that is a heart-shaped diamond mounted on the top). Just the thing for a St. Patrick’s Day proposal. Brad had it custom designed, just for me… And it’s one of a kind, just like him. (Cue the violins, people. It doesn’t get more sappy than this.) Seriously though, I get a lot of comments about this bling, from total strangers to dear friends who swoon over it every time it catches the light. It is really and truly incredible… And he deserves full credit.

(Fun fact: The only person who knew about B-rad’s not-so-evil plan beforehand was my mum. He asked for her blessing and gave her a sneak peek at the ring before I had any idea what was going on. She still pretended to be surprised when I called to tell her the news, though… and I sure am glad she gave him the green light. Thanks, mum… You rock!)

So there you have it. And now that you know how I became a bride-to-be, come on and get sappy with me!  What’s your proposal story? Leave it in the comments!