Will You Marry Me; Four words that every girl hopes to hear and epic love stories are created about. It’s an emotionally exposed and un-offending question that should* pinpoint the most romantic moment in your life.

* key word: should.  Hi, my name is Jocelyn and I can make any situation as awkward as humanly possible.

Let me set the scene for you;

✔️ exotic location – amsterdam

✔️ romantic surroundings – house boat on the canals

✔️ memorable date for anniversary reasons – Christmas morning

✔️perfect execution – down on one knee and prior consent of mother

✖️ beautiful, calm and un-awkward acceptance by me – Not. At. All. Unless of course you think that 6am attitude and bed hair is beautiful, instant flood of tears is calm and a repetitive and (very) high pitched “but, are you sure” is un-awkward. If so then by all means mentally tick that box. But I did say yes amoungst the tears at one stage. I think anyway. Maybe the yes was implied.

Once the  emotional breakdown subsided, and all necessary calls have been made (thank god for our bi-annual Harro-Olympics christmas family get-togethers) the ring reveling begins and I literally can not tear my eyes away from my left hand. Oh so shiny, Look how it sparkles, How heavy my hand feels, Oh my god it’s so shiny, Look at the pretty sparkles ….. This continues for a full two days. And then the mental planning begins.

Now I’m going to make a huge generalization here, but every girl has thought about their wedding at one stage or another. We have been taking mental notes, keeping diaries and pintrest boards and giggling to our bestest of friends, about our imaginary impending nuptials all because if we say it out loud, for some weird reason, it makes us look needy and desperate. Which is odd because aren’t we all needy and desperate for love in some form or another (woah, things just got philosophic).

This ring, that my very good looking, caring, protective and sometimes intolerable hoosh (oh I’m making it a word Sam) has placed on my finger, gives me the privilege, nay entitlement, to now voice my opinions without sounding like a 16 year old girl on her two week anniversary. I am getting married. My lover’s declaration of love has given me the right to voice my opinions to him at any given moment and all he has to do is nod his head, smile and think happy thoughts while I get my crazy on.

Granted Sam did say once that I should start counting my Missisippi’s and wait until I get home in 5 months to start planning … It’s almost as if he doesn’t know me at all. And he did mention (in jest I think) the “e” word just once before I shut him down. We would have to climb over both our mothers and sisters dead bodies in order to elope. And I don’t think we’d be on the family’s Christmas card list that year.

But after the moment is done and I clearly did not look, nor behave like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind (what I was aiming for), the fact still remains that even though this kid is going to have to put up with my kind of crazy and awkwardness for the rest of his life, he has still made a declaration to love me, crazy and all, for an indefinite period of time.

And while my acceptance (and his attire) was untraditional (but effective), I count my lucky stars that it’s him who got down on one knee and single handedly turn me into a basket case. So for now, the waiting begins. One Missisippi ….