Part 3

We have learned that I should never start a multi-part post. Ever.

OK, for those who have been wondering what happened after I dated Clinton, here is the exciting conclusion:

When last we left our hero, he was holding my hand in the Church History Museum of downtown Salt Lake City on Monday, March 15 in company with everybody else who decided to go to our Singles Ward Family Home Evening. (Monday night activity with our church congregation.)

Within myself, I was determined to extract a commitment from Clinton to date me and nobody else for a bit. If you've ever seen "You've Got Mail," Tom Hanks' best friend explains that you always take the relationship to the next level until it is absolutely necessary that you break up. The cynic in me was repeating that line in my ear all night.

When we arrived in my driveway, of course, we didn't go right up to the door. We talked a bit. I brought the subject around something like this:

M: I had a nice time.
C: Me too. I really like being with you.
M: Where do you see us going?
C: How about eternity?
M: [Did he really say that?] Sounds good to me.
C: OK
M: So now I can call you my boyfriend, huh?
C: I think there's another word for it.

Viola. We were engaged. When he walked me to the door I suggested we should probably let our families know; and he said wait. He needed a bit of time before we did that.

He went home, walked in the door, and started trying to figure out how to afford to get married. His parents, recognizing that he looked preoccupied, agitated, and loopy, asked whether he'd gotten engaged.

I was no better at keeping it to myself; I immediately mailed off a letter to my little brother in Chile, and I had lunch with my sister the next day and spilled the beans. It was a loosely guarded secret for the next couple days as we got used to the idea.

Toward the end of the week I called my mom and asked her to meet me for dinner halfway, and we told her the news and asked her to give us a day to spread the word. She said she couldn't keep that to herself, so midweek at 9:00 pm we drove up to her house to tell my little sister. About ten minutes later, my brothers and their wives arrived from a BNL concert to pick up the kids that my sister was babysitting. Before we left, my mom took out her mother's wedding ring and gave it to us. The setting was broken, and platinum isn't my color; but mom wanted us to have it and suggested we get the diamond reset.

I was all for getting married soon. Clinton's mom figured "soon" meant about August, and we had an August date for a day or two. Ultimately we set the date in June.

If I could do it over, I think we might have eloped; but time wears down the memories of unpleasant elements, and the good parts shine a bit brighter. Being engaged isn't really much fun. Planning a wedding isn't much fun. All the free advice is fairly useless. Really, it's a huge bloated industry of photographers, overpriced dressmakers, overpriced cakes (Fronk, a cake is flour and sugar.) overpriced flowers, and fluffery that really isn't me.

We couldn't elope, though. If you know our mothers, you'll understand that it just isn't worth the infamy and guilt and agony of fighting, so we went traditional. I even picked colors (really - what is that all about?) and wore a big fluffy tulle cream-puff cupcake dress.

One thing I put my foot down on: no LDS cultural halls. We had one reception in Sandy in a beautiful back yard covered with spring flowers. "In case of inclement weather the reception will be held at the LDS cultural hall." It rained, and the families were all set to move things to the church building. I said "no, this isn't inclement" and they let me have my garden reception in a slight sprinkle. It was gorgeous. The other reception was in my mom's back yard... also very nice.

This story was supposed to be posted 3 weeks ago; so it's a little anticlimactic. Still, 5 years ago I was engaged to my super handsome best friend. And here we are, living happily ever after.

The end.