The art of happily ever after: one man's tale of popping the question.
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One day last spring, I was at a Blue Jays game in Toronto with my old pal Murray, debating the best baseball movies ever made. “Bull Durham is pretty good,” he said, brushing peanut shells off his shirt. “I like the original Bad News Bears,” I countered, taking a swig of beer. It was an intensely nuanced discussion. Down on the field, Yankees slugger Alex Rodriguez had just struck out. Suddenly, a man toting a video camera appeared in the row of seats ahead of us. The next thing we knew, Murray and I were up on the Jumbotron, smirking like a couple of idiot schoolboys.
It gave me an idea.
That spring, my girlfriend, Shannon, and I had been talking about getting married. We’d been dating for three years and it was time: I was ready to pop The Question. But how to do it? Finding an engagement ring and proposing was, well, new to me. Should it be over a romantic dinner? On a weekend retreat at a bucolic B&B? How about a spontaneous moment in the subway? I hadn’t a clue.
It turns out that the guy with the video camera was a friend of Shannon’s sister, Karen — she had texted him to tell him where Murray and I were sitting. When I got home from the game, I emailed Karen, swearing her to secrecy. “I want to ask Shannon to marry me on the Jumbotron,” I wrote. Could she ask her friend how it’s done?
Hell, yeah, she could.
Picking out the ring on the next page ...
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