Forever Mine

I’m really hungry. I want spaghetti.

These were my thoughts. It was November 7th, 2010 and although it was probably 40 degrees outside, it was cozy and warm in the dark Bothwell Auditorium at Blackburn College. The Victorian play The Ideal Husband was making its last performance, and since my little brother and my boyfriend’s little sister both had parts, we decided to go to the Sunday 2:00 matinee.

I loved Victorian houses and stories and clothes and plays. I loved the way Victorian people talked, wrote, and expressed their transcendentalism through their artwork. I thought it was a perfectly beautiful age.

David, my boyfriend, knew this. We thoroughly enjoyed the play. It was so dark in the auditorium that I couldn’t even see his face next to me. Probably a good thing, because if I had, it would have blown my mind because of what would happen next.

The play ended promptly and we clapped. The cast came out and bowed. Then Amanda, David’s younger sister, stood up with her autumn-red colored gown outfit (and the large pillow they had placed comically on her back end to further develop her character), and thanked all those involved in the play.

I started to get antsy. My stomach grumbled. I even thought about getting up to leave and get started on making that spaghetti. But I didn’t. Good thing, too.

Because a moment later, Amanda announced,

“And now I believe there is someone in the audience with us tonight who has something very special they would like to share with us.”

And she gave a cue.

I thought she was going to give an award to the director and make him cry.

But the next minute, I was crying.

A huge, red, hand-made banner came down from the stage and shot a jolt of electricity through my central nervous system.

It read, “Will you marry me, Ruth Anne?”

Now my stomach was shriveled to the size of a pea, and it wasn’t because I was hungry.

David must have been sweating bullets. I couldn’t breathe or think. Was that really my name up there?

I looked again. It was.

The crowd started hooting and clapping and onstage, my little brother started crying.

Something warm trickled over me. The spotlight! That devious director, David Sollish, had perched himself on the balcony and even put the spotlight on us! I looked again and David was on his knee. And there was the ring, a white-gold marquee-shaped diamond on a flourishing Victorian band. Size 4 1/2, just my size!

He sort of gulped a little and looked at me like a cornered owl. If only I could talk! I was crying so hard – and my hair was in a mess and I hadn’t worn makeup – and the spotlight was so bright!

The audience was still going wild, but then they started to quiet down a little.

“Uhm… it’s yes, right?” he choked out, watching me unblinkingly.

It was quiet as a silver summer night in the country.

Then I said it.

Well actually, I sort of screamed it.


And we embraced. My heart went through the ceiling and my nerves dissolved into relief. They videotaped the entire thing in the booth and had it copied to two separate DVD’s for us both.

Finally, he’s mine.


This is the true story of my engagement, which happened about a couple weeks ago.


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