A year ago today, to celebrate TP's birthday, we went to a nice Indian restaurant for dinner and loaded up on yummy food. By the time we left, I had a full belly and was very sleepy. On our drive back, TP made a right when he should have gone straight and prompted me to turn my head and look at him sideways. When he made another right instead of turning left to get us back on track, I pointed out his directional mistake in none too dulcet a manner: "This is not the way home, Bozo!" He gently explained that he wanted to swing by the National Catheral for a quick look at the gardens before the sun set: "Calm down! I know where I'm going, Monkeyboots!" I glared, sat back with my disgruntled arms (you know, arms lightly crossed which is not the same as "angry arms" which involves tightly crossed arms), and kept quiet. As we neared the Cathedral grounds, I brightened up because it really is such an amazing work of art and architecture and the gardens in full bloom are a sight to behold.
We parked in the shadow of the towering stone building and under the watchful eyes of the many gargoyles, strolled through the garden, stopped and smelled the voluptous roses, and pinched off bits of lavender, mint, and fennel. When we wound our way to the gazebo to watch the grand finale of the sun set, TP got down on one knee, proposed to me, and made me -- ME: little miss tomboy who had to have short hair because her long hair tangled in the limbs of the trees she climbed, who preferred Thundercats to Strawberry Shortcake, who would take a hi-yah movie over a sappy love story anytime -- cry. He placed on my finger a temporary engagement ring that sported a design of elephants facing each other and whose trunks formed hearts all the way around.
We lived happily ever after.