I always felt that public proposals in Hollywood movies are an impossible promise. The subtext is, "If you would forget that I've acted like a churl for the past 90 minutes of this film, I'll give you a life of cinematic romance. If you won't, everyone here will remember you as a witch even if you've been the movie's heroine."
Ever wonder why these movies don't have sequels? Because the sequel would be dashed dreams and resentment.
I woke up Sunday morning dreadfully dehydrated and whimpered to my Beloved, "I'm so hung over; would you bring me some water?" He brought a tray of water, tea, rose petals, and an engagement ring fastened to an "engagement menu" of things I might like for breakfast. He assured me we could eat in bed (I hate crumbs in bed), because today was laundry day. After he said his heart's piece, he proposed marriage in English and German. What could I say to this subtext, a promise of a life of quiet thoughtfulness? Yes, yes, yes, and ja.
Then, when the croissants and sushi roll started to crumb as I knew they would, petulance filled me, and I flung the rose petals on the bed. He left the room and came back to answer my impulse with a velvety deluge of red and yellow.
Apparently, "some rose petals" meant something different to the florist. The rose petal fight went on until there were rose petals in the soy sauce, in our fingernails, and then his roommate came home, and we rained rose petals on him, too. We decided that our children could also eat in bed on laundry day.
So how do I feel? For one, I feel silly. I'm wanton with rose petals, and I hold out my hand like Knowshown Moreno, when no one's looking.
Mostly, I'm so happy that I'm sad. Our families are so far flung, we got engaged in the American style; our families couldn't get together for a Vietnamese engagement ceremony. I love my Beloved - or my Betrothed - so much, I ache to hug the man from whence he came. I wish I could squeeze my parents for all their lessons on love. I'm so happy, I want to kiss my nieces and nephews and yell into my grandmother's ear (she's hard of hearing). They say globalization makes the world a village, and though it brought me my Beloved, it's not small enough to cross today.