The other day, I heard on the radio that no longer do men and women have to work up the nerve to propose to their ostensible beloveds all by their lonesome and risk downright rejection and utter humiliation.
Nope, they can have the ultimate wing person and arrange to have someone design and stage a proposal for them.
In the immortal words of Dave Barry, I am not making this up. There are companies designed to put the happy couple in blissful Engagement Land, a stories place that only appears when children believe in fairies and clap their…oh, wait, wrong story.
So, what used to be the simplest of matters, procuring a ring suited to one’s taste and budget, once one had alit on a suitable proposee, choosing a secluded place in which to do the deed because, after all, this is the most private and personal of human undertakings save perhaps childbirth, and, bending the supple knee, popping the question fraught with moment and suspense. (Just between the two of us, have you ever wondered why we reserve the phrase, “popping the question” for this particular occasion? We don’t “pop” the question in any other circumstance. We may pop up or pop out or pop over (especially if we are the Pillsbury Doughboy) (Sorry) or pop in or pop under or pop by or pop around or any other combination of the verb “pop” and the speaker’s choice of meaningful adverb, but in no other time and place or imaginable circumstance do we speak of popping the question.
Sidebar (not that this post is almost entirely sidebar already): Don’t you just cringe down to your skivvies when one of those young dudes (and they’re almost invariably young) who, wearing his baseball cap backwards, is just certain that it might be a GREAT IDEA to propose to the one he considers his woman in a highly public venue such as a baseball game or crap shoot? Every time television shows one of these, I like to think that if I were there I would shout, “No, young dude! DON’T DO IT!!!” and try to get everyone to join me, even gang tackling the perpetrator before he can do the deed in necessary. I’ve seen the woman in question reject this most abject of proffers and run in a horrid admixture of unparalleled embarrassment, deep humiliation and most likely abject terror from what she was imagined was going to be a pleasant evening out instead of THE SINGLE MOST TERRIBLE ORDEAL IN HER LIFE second only perhaps to being kidnapped and held hostage by the Elf on the Shelf. Seeing a couple of these has scarred me for life, I know. You most likely can tell.
Anyhow, young fellas, if I haven’t been able to talk some sense into you, here’s a link to a proposal service: http://www.theheartbandits.com/proposals.html
Maybe, just maybe, they’ll keep you from hurting yourself and a whole bunch of innocent people. Good luck, man. You’re going to need it.
Biscuit City 
Dan, what a comical post. i enjoyed reading it. Every time a younger guy asks me how big the ring should be, I always say it doesn’t matter. What matters is the moment. It’s the HOW you propose, not how big the ring is. You can always buy a larger one on a later anniversary.
I proposed to my beautiful Stacia on the beach. A couple years later, we were married on the exact same spot. This September, 15 years later, we stayed in a hotel overlooking THAT spot, and told our wonderful 9 year old son the story. He thought it was cool to be there. That will be our spot and our moment forever.
Sure beats halftime at a Knicks game!
nK