I'm Not Ready!

So there is the story, but, of course, as with any story there are the many stories behind the story.

Before I get to the best part of our engagement that wasn't the actual engagement, also known as The Best Story Ever, some random details and facts.

Valentine's Day was not only a good cover for romantic notions, it is also Mr. Perfect's parents anniversary and my grandparents anniversary.

There weren't just two signs when he proposed. I totally missed a sign directing me to the living room. Not surprising at all.

In my defense, I could already see the flowers and was a bit distracted with my purse and packages.

So about this ring...
While I had input and we talked and shopped together for a ring, the decision was ultimately Mr. Perfect's. I don't remember exactly how this all came about, but I knew I wanted an antique setting and something a bit different. I've always loved art deco style jewelry, so we were focused in on rings from the '20s and '30s. There were plenty we both liked on Etsy, but I think we both wanted to be able to look at them in person.

Shell and I found Pippen on our trip to NYC, and honestly I just felt like that was the place we would find my ring. Mr. Perfect and I stopped in Pippen and several other antique jewelry stores during our trip to NYC last summer, but never found anything we both really loved.

In December we were both in New York for work and made the requisite Pippen stop. We found several contenders, but, as the sales girl finally pointed out, there was one ring I kept going back to over and over.

It seemed to be what we were looking for - an old diamond flanked by three sapphires on each side, as well as three small diamonds that just add an incredible sparkle. More important to me was the hand engraving on the platinum band and around the setting.

After we both felt like we had done all the looking we could, we stepped outside the shop. Then quickly realized I didn't know what size ring I was (used to be an 8) so jumped back in for a quick sizing (6.75 - apparently I carry my weight in my fingers?).

When we got home we looked at one more ring at a jewelry store next to my office. I had randomly found it one day when I took a walk around the block for a break. It was a really gorgeous setting, but the thing that surprised me a bit was it was actually a bit too blingy for me. The diamond was around a karat, maybe bigger, and it was sparkly as can be. But... it lacked the personality of the other ring.

Mr. Perfect and I traded notes and decided we both felt like we had looked at enough rings that we knew what we both liked and were looking for.

And then... that was it! I had to bury my type-A I'll send you a reminder email about that-self and just trust Mr. Perfect would get something we would both really love and cherish.

And he did.

The Pippen ring it was.

Some better pictures of the ring -

Before we get to The Best Story Ever, here's a quick tidbit for you - the night before Mr. Perfect proposed, we had dinner with his dad at my aunt and uncle's house. And for about an hour my aunt grilled us on when we were getting married, going so far as to start picking dates for us. It was hilarious that night (and a perfect example of a Mr. Perfect's ability to roll with the punches, whatever they may be) - but even more so the next. I loved calling my aunt and telling her the news - such a funny coincidence, especially since Mr. Perfect already had his plans for the next day and his dad also knew that the ring was purchased (in December).

So kids.

The Best Story Ever.
One of the first questions people ask when you are recently engaged is "Did he ask your parents??"

Oh yes he did.
And awesomely, my parents acted in a way that (FINALLY) shows this whole awkward thing is genetic.

So in January, once Mr. Perfect had the ring in hand (after being sized and shipped to his office), he emailed my parents to let them know he would like to talk to both of them and to let him know a time that worked.

He had the good timing to send this the day of the BB King concert we had bought our parents tickets to for Christmas. This meant when I was talking to my mom he was able to throw out there that he had emailed them to remind them of the concert that night.
Tricky.

So my mom replied and agreed to talk the next night at 6pm.

This works well for Mr. Perfect as I usually get home after 7.

So the next night, 6pm rolls around.
Mr. Perfect calls.
My mom answers.
My dad isn't home.
Typical (my family isn't known for uh, timeliness).
Mom says they'll call back.
Dad gets home.
Mom tells him, "Do you think this is the call? Do you think this is it?"
"Oh, I don't know! " Dad replies, with panic. "What are we going to say?"

So they talked it through.
And Mom gets ready to call Mr. Perfect back.
And then, in a scene out of an 8th grade slumber party, my Dad yelps, "Wait!! I'm not ready!"

My dad.
My strong, manly, macho, unquavering dad.
My dad whose photograph of himself shaving in the woods while he was in the National Guard, was ran in the paper with the caption "True Grit."
My dad who has a record of staging stake outs to (successfully) capture thieves of his tools and property.

My dad is also the Dad of two (perpetually) little girls and three boys.
And mostly, in this situation, the Dad of one Erin Maureen the Baby Queen, also known in some circles as The Caboose (being the youngest and all).

So yeah.
The man needed a minute.

So they talked.
Some more.
And they were ready.

As my mom said, they wanted to get it right.

So they called Mr. Perfect back.
And as his phone rang, I walked in the door.

So they talked, the three of them, about the concert from the night before as I heckled, "Why are you talking to my parents?"

He explained he wanted to know how the concert went, I thought he was being sweet, and that was it.

They talked for 5 or 10 minutes.
Then said goodbye.

And, as my mom explained - she looked at my dad and they collectively said, "What the hell was that?"

Later in the week, Mr. Perfect called back -alone, from his car- and they had the other talk. And, as he likes to point out, Mom cried more than I did.