My boyfriend, who is an analytical fellow by nature, rang my doorbell on the Sunday before Valentine’s Day. This was not unusual as he usually showed up on a Sunday morning to attend church with me. However, on this particular morning, he was completely out of character. This man is a creature of habit.  Routine should be is middle name. He is not given to romance or anything done out of the ordinary. You can imagine my surprise when he announces he wasn’t there to go to church with me. Instead he intends to take me to an unknown destination. I became very excited after my initial shock had worn off wondering if this was the same man that eats, sleeps, and exercises by a rigid routine. That is, until I was told it was a three hour drive and I had one hour to be ready. I had to have heard him wrong. I had one hour to pull together an outfit that could be worn outside on a cold day as well as in a warm building, shoes for walking a long distance and nice shoes for inside, dress nice like for church, only fancier.  

All you ladies are shaking your heads about now and the men are saying, “What’s the problem?”  The “problem” was after an hour of  trying on clothes and deciding on a classy black pant suit, hoping it was right for the occasion, I had only just begun. I then had to pick out jewelry, shoes, and a purse to compliment my outfit, paint my nails,  style my hair and apply  makeup. The hour deadline was approaching the two hour mark.

My boyfriend decided he was going to go wash his car and make some phone calls to move some things back to give us more time.  In the meanwhile, I made the decision to do makeup and nails in the car on the three hour drive. I was multi-tasking and almost at the finish line. I opted for flats for the long walk with my heels thrown in a large bag to switch out when we reached our destination. My pants were long enough that I could switch to heels later. In the meantime I would need to do a little pinning while in the flats so I wouldn’t step on them when walking outside. Another thing to add to my things-to-do-on-the-drive-there list.  You may be wondering why couldn’t I just walk in heels the entire time. Good question. I was trying to recover from a car accident where I incurred a  spinal/neck injury that affected my back. Doctor’s orders…no walking in heels.

My plan was in place. I was organized down to the last detail.   Ready to go. Jetting down the stairs from my second floor, I was on the last step when my left foot went left instead of forward, getting caught up in the long hem I had not pinned yet. My ankle rolled completely on it’s side. Falling from the last step to the floor, then onto my back, I screamed as pain raced through my ankle and foot.  I had managed to elude breaks and sprains my entire life, which is surprising being a self-proclaimed tomboy as a child. A  blood-curdling sound escaped my lips and echoed off the walls before falling flat in the empty room. My only hope was the neighbors had heard and were calling the police thinking someone was being murdered.  As the next scream was making it’s way up my throat and off my lips, I tilted my head back and realized my boyfriend had left the front door open.  I could see the front bumper of his car from my vantage point. Hallelujah, he was back.  I began screaming his name over and over again.  Silence.

Where was he?  Why wasn’t he coming up the sidewalk? How could he not hear his girlfriend’s pleas for help? Not being able to stand on my foot, I threw my flats at the storm door hoping he would hear or see them and come running.  Silence.  After long painful hours (actually it was just a couple of minutes)  he came walking non-nonchalantly up the sidewalk. He had been sitting in his car making those phone calls I mentioned earlier. He saw the shoes, he saw me lying on the floor crying. His initial thought was the time constraint he had put on me caused me to have an emotional melt down. Those thoughts changed quickly, when he began to decipher bumbling words through my sobs of, “it hurts”, “my foot”, “make it stop”. He takes one look and is shocked by what he sees.  The entire side of my foot has swollen to twice its normal size. Thick blood was flowing black and purple under the swelling. He propped me up against his chest to a sitting position. He said he was taking me to the hospital. I start crying even harder and sobbed words of refusal. I was determined to go where he had originally planned. I knew whatever it was, it was  something big for my boyfriend to abandon his routine. I was so seldom surprised by him. I was not going to give this day up without a fight. On occasion, I have been known to be stubborn and he knew this was one of them.  So he fills a cooler with several ice packs. Proceeds to pick me up and carry me to his car. For three hours we drove while my foot was elevated on the dashboard with ice wrapped around it.  I still managed to put on makeup and paint my nails despite the intense throbbing and sharp jabbing pain when I moved my foot in the slightest direction.

As we were getting closer to the destination, my boyfriend turns the radio off  and began singing to me. He had to restart five times because he was getting emotional trying to express his love and couldn’t get the words out. I thought he was singing to me because he felt sorry for me. I had no idea it was all a part of his bigger plan. It was a beautiful song called, “How Deep is the Ocean”, written by Irving Berlin in 1932. I’ve included a video clip of Diana Krall singing the song. This is the only You Tube video I could find of her singing it as it was sung to me, only in a lower register. The video is filled with excerpts from a 1926 movie called, “The Son of a Sheik,  staring Rudolph Valentino. The movie has nothing to do with my story other than the song being sung.

To my delight we pulled up to the front of the Kennedy Center in Washington D.C., a place that I  had always wanted to visit.  He had arranged for us to watch a play that afternoon. 

But how was I going to get inside? I still couldn’t walk and there were stairs involved. I did manage, upon realizing where we were, to slide on those beautiful cream colored slingback heels. A girl must prioritize   I did keep the strap off of the hurt ankle so it wasn’t enclosed but still, very painful. My door swings open and there is my love,  lifting me in his arms and carrying me to the front of the Kennedy Center. He placed me gently down right outside of the door in a seated area. He drove off to park the car in the garage.  A few moments later he is walking out the front doors of the Kennedy Center with a wheelchair. Pride feels me as I see my guy meeting the needs of this crazy, stubborn girl of his. I am escorted to the play, called “Shear Madness”.  Looking at myself in a wheelchair with possibly a broken foot, opting for the theatre over an x-ray, the double entendre was not lost on me. It was a comedy, murder mystery with audience interaction.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.

When it was over I was wheeled out to the car and lifted in. He helped to elevate my leg again and tied another ice pack around my foot and ankle. After two hours of my foot not being elevated, the swelling had taken on a new form of puffiness.  He asked could he take me to a first care place now. I asked if we had done everything he had planned.  He told me we had not.  So I said, “No, continue on with your plan.” With a frustrated sigh and a chuckle at my stubbornness  he drove for about an hour and a half to the next destination.  We ended up in Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia.  This is an old port town with buildings dating back to the 1600’s.  It is a beautiful town located on the water.  Lamp posts lit up the sidewalks of this quaint little village.  We drove around taking in the sights as his first plan of taking an evening stroll had been derailed.  After ample time of viewing the town, we drove up a steep concrete hill into a parking garage.

He and I went up a hill,

to find a place to park.

I couldn’t walk,

thus started to sulk.

So my boyfriend carried me down.

He not only carried me down the hill from the parking garage but down the sidewalk and into a charming Italian restaurant called, Il Porto Ristorante. He had reserved a table for two. I was facing the  large picture window that looked out onto the lit sidewalks and quaint shops.  The ristorante had red and white checked table clothes, brick walls, fireplace, and a charming old country feel. 

   While we were enjoying the main dish, my boyfriend stood up and pulled his chair beside of mine and sat down again. Before I had a chance to ask him what he was doing, I heard what sounded like a low whistle. Looking up, there were four men wearing tuxedos standing before me, one blowing into a pitch pipe.  They handed me a rose and card from my sweet love. Then they began to sing to me. A beautiful song  about marriage and love I had not heard before. When they finished, I turned and there was my boyfriend on one knee. The patrons in the ristorante were silent, all eyes and ears were on us. The manager and cooks had even put the kitchen on hold to come out and listen. He took my hand, apologized for not being able to talk any louder and asked me not to request it of him.  He told me later he had a big speech prepared, but couldn’t get it out because he was emotionally falling apart.  He is a very sensitive man and doesn’t like to go public with his emotions so I knew how difficult this was for him. He also does not like being the center of attention or public speaking unless it has something to do with his line of work. Then he is in his element. So he simply said in a shaking whisper,  “You know how much I love you. I love you so very much.” He then reached in his pocket, took out a beautiful princess cut diamond ring, looked at me with tear-filled eyes, and choked out the words, “Will you marry me?”  

I was crying, he was crying….the patrons were crying.  I cried, YES!  I threw my arms around him, we embraced, we cried some more.  The patrons in the ristorante went wild. People were visiting from several nationalities. Bravos and well done were heard throughout the ristorante. Other comments, in languages I didn’t understand, were shouted out above the applause and clinging of glasses that I took for well wishes and good cheer. Then the quartet sing, “Let Me Call You Sweetheart”, as me and my fiance sat side-by-side gazing into each other’s eyes.  

Upon finishing our meal, I was again swept into his arms and carried  out of the ristorante. As you can see by the photo above, there was a clear view from the side window for all inside to see my fiance carrying me in his arms up the sidewalk. As we passed by this window, the patrons had gotten out of their seats and were lined up at the window applauding as we went by. To them it was the most romantic thing ever for me to be swept away in his arms. They had no idea my ankle was the color and size of an eggplant.  I even saw one lady playfully punch her husband in the arm as if to ask, “Why don’t you ever do anything like that for me?” 

After my out-of-breath fiance had placed me back in the car, he asked, “Now may I take you somewhere to get your ankle some attention? So I said, “If you don’t have anything else planned, yes.” He looked at me in shock and began to say, “Wasn’t that enoug…”, when he noticed the glint in my eye and slight smile and realized I was teasing him.

We looked up all the urgent care places on our GPS and they were all closed between D.C. and home.  So we drove straight home and at midnight made it to the hospital in our hometown. It had been a little over twelve hours since my injury. The girl at the registration desk wanted to know why we waited so long to come in.  We told her about the events of the day.  By the time I was taken to a room the attending nurse already knew our story and was congratulating us.  When I was rolled into x-ray, the techs knew the story and were congratulating me.  Back in my room the doctor came in and was giving us his congratulations.  Apparently, word travels fast on a slow night in the ER. The doctor stated I had a Grade II ankle sprain with torn ligaments in my foot.  They wrapped it tight and said I would be on crutches for three to six weeks.  I was told total healing time six weeks if I did everything the right way. (I must have done something wrong because it has been over two years and it still hurts occasionally.) With that news we were given permission to leave the emergency room. Thus ended the day of my painful wedding proposal.  We looked at the time and it was 1:00 in the morning. We simultaneously looked at each other and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It has been over two years since that day and we are now happily married. This is the wedding proposal that our family’s future generations of starry-eyed brides and nervous grooms will read or hear concerning two fools crazy about each other. My hope is what will stand out to them is the romance and love behind my painful wedding proposal.