ENGAGED!
John was not having a good work week. Worked till like 11 p.m. one night, had contractors yelling at him with unrealistic expectations, you name it. It wasn't the best week for me as well; we'd returned from an awesome vacation, but I was stricken with a head cold and fever that I still wasn't completely done with by Wednesday.
John called me around 6 to tell me he'd make dinner after he finished up from work. Around 730, he called again. "Could you bring over Scrabble? I could use a distraction from crappy work stuff." Though it took me awhile to track down the board, I hauled it over with my sweatpants-clad, glasses-wearing, wet-haired, sinus-y self.
We played a game as John made dinner. The past few turns he seemed a bit quiet. I kind of thought he was annoyed that he was losing, though that's usually not John's style. I was pretty heavily kicking his butt by the time it came for me to pull the last letter out of the bag.
And I did. But there was more than a letter in the bag. There was also a gorgeous sapphire engagement ring. I made some sort of screaming, crying noise that I can't even articulate. I put on the ring, which I could tell was too small, but I had to wear it anyways, of course.
John came over to my side of the table and proposed on one knee. I sobbed, somehow getting a "yes" out there somewhere. I called my sister (who screamed louder than I had!) to tell her the news, and we ate our wonderful engagement dinner together of London broil, homemade mashed potatoes, Spinach and a bottle of Cava. We called our parents, who were thrilled, and enjoyed the rest of the night together.
You'd think the story would end there.
Woke up the next morning, and couldn't get the ring off. Like, at all. Like, to the point where I can't even understand how the ring got on in the first place. John and I try everything to get it off (thank you, Internets). Windex. Ice. Cold water. This weird trick where you wrap dental floss around your swollen finger. No dice. I gave up and went into work, hoping the swelling would recede.
It didn't. Work people and I tried similar measures. Soon, the entire finger below the knuckle was red, bordering on purple. My boss finally said, "Yeah, you better have someone take care of that." Thought about hitting the ER, but someone suggested the fire station downstairs.
I knock at the door, feeling somewhat silly. "I've got a ring stuck on my finger - anyway you guys can help me, or should I go to the hospital?" Fireman: "Yeah, we're gonna have to cut that off. "No!" I said.
Entering the station, there are three other firefighters there, including a woman. She's naturally sympathetic, hearing it's my new engagement ring, and says "Honey, we're going to try everything first before we cut it off."
And they did. Turns out firemen cut off rings all the time, btw - guy at Rosslyn said he's done like 40, including the chief's wife, hehe.
They try icing my hand for 20 minutes. Elevating it. Vegetable oil. More Windex. Finally the medic says, "It has to come off, and the hospital would say the same thing."
And they cut it off. And used pliers to get it off. And popped one of the diamonds out of the setting (we found it, yay!). There were some tears for awhile afterwards, but it didn't take long before this transitioned into amusing and I was back on Cloud Nine about the engagement (didn't hurt that the jeweler said he'd fix it for free). No ring for awhile, now, but hey, I have a fiance instead.
Good thing I don't believe in omens. And as Jerry said, it's hard to think of an engagement story that's more "Pure Missy".
UPDATE! RING PHOTOS here (they're not great, but we didn't anticipate losing the ring, hehe). And ring is supposed to be fixed by next weekend!
John called me around 6 to tell me he'd make dinner after he finished up from work. Around 730, he called again. "Could you bring over Scrabble? I could use a distraction from crappy work stuff." Though it took me awhile to track down the board, I hauled it over with my sweatpants-clad, glasses-wearing, wet-haired, sinus-y self.
We played a game as John made dinner. The past few turns he seemed a bit quiet. I kind of thought he was annoyed that he was losing, though that's usually not John's style. I was pretty heavily kicking his butt by the time it came for me to pull the last letter out of the bag.
And I did. But there was more than a letter in the bag. There was also a gorgeous sapphire engagement ring. I made some sort of screaming, crying noise that I can't even articulate. I put on the ring, which I could tell was too small, but I had to wear it anyways, of course.
John came over to my side of the table and proposed on one knee. I sobbed, somehow getting a "yes" out there somewhere. I called my sister (who screamed louder than I had!) to tell her the news, and we ate our wonderful engagement dinner together of London broil, homemade mashed potatoes, Spinach and a bottle of Cava. We called our parents, who were thrilled, and enjoyed the rest of the night together.
You'd think the story would end there.
Woke up the next morning, and couldn't get the ring off. Like, at all. Like, to the point where I can't even understand how the ring got on in the first place. John and I try everything to get it off (thank you, Internets). Windex. Ice. Cold water. This weird trick where you wrap dental floss around your swollen finger. No dice. I gave up and went into work, hoping the swelling would recede.
It didn't. Work people and I tried similar measures. Soon, the entire finger below the knuckle was red, bordering on purple. My boss finally said, "Yeah, you better have someone take care of that." Thought about hitting the ER, but someone suggested the fire station downstairs.
I knock at the door, feeling somewhat silly. "I've got a ring stuck on my finger - anyway you guys can help me, or should I go to the hospital?" Fireman: "Yeah, we're gonna have to cut that off. "No!" I said.
Entering the station, there are three other firefighters there, including a woman. She's naturally sympathetic, hearing it's my new engagement ring, and says "Honey, we're going to try everything first before we cut it off."
And they did. Turns out firemen cut off rings all the time, btw - guy at Rosslyn said he's done like 40, including the chief's wife, hehe.
They try icing my hand for 20 minutes. Elevating it. Vegetable oil. More Windex. Finally the medic says, "It has to come off, and the hospital would say the same thing."
And they cut it off. And used pliers to get it off. And popped one of the diamonds out of the setting (we found it, yay!). There were some tears for awhile afterwards, but it didn't take long before this transitioned into amusing and I was back on Cloud Nine about the engagement (didn't hurt that the jeweler said he'd fix it for free). No ring for awhile, now, but hey, I have a fiance instead.
Good thing I don't believe in omens. And as Jerry said, it's hard to think of an engagement story that's more "Pure Missy".
UPDATE! RING PHOTOS here (they're not great, but we didn't anticipate losing the ring, hehe). And ring is supposed to be fixed by next weekend!