The last post proved popular enough that I guess I have to tell the other story. It's hard to know where to begin, as some readers of this blog are already familiar with some of the more salient points, but others are starting from scratch. It might help to picture the scene if you know that Stacy was 5'3" and an anorectic 85 pounds (160cm, 38.5 kg), had metallic-pink coppery hair (in the popular at that moment Dorothy Hamill bob), emerald green eyes and the almost albino white skin that tends to go with that. She was also so obviously insane that I had only introduced her to a couple of my friends and none of my family.
This is not a good start. I did once post the unbelievable "meet cute" story. It's here, starting at "She was naked when I met her." [That should get that link some hits...]
I remember thinking, "I think I have to marry that girl." I don't know what convinced me, but it just seemed the thing to do. I had bought a ring, which I had to have resized because a "3 1/2" isn't a normal number, unless you're a toddler. Then I tried to think of extravagant, romantic ways to ask her, as she was the type who loved a grand gesture, but nothing seemed right, so I decided to just ask very simply instead, sure she'd find some way to make the moment memorable.
I was in her (our?) apartment and, when she had finally wound down from her usual antics and stopped talking long enough for me to get a word in edgewise, I started, "Stacy..." and that's all I got out before she said:
"I know what you're planning. And I'll say 'yes' to your question, but there's something you need to do for me first. Lucky's been scooting on the carpet again and he needs to have his anal glands expressed..."
-I'll take him to the vet tomorrow.
"It doesn't take a vet and he needs relief now. I'd do it myself, but it's disgusting."
-You're just trying to make this as unromantic as possible, aren't you?
-Do you at least have a pair of gloves?
"First thing I did when I got off the plane was buy gloves. I don't know how you live here..."
-Plastic gloves, you nutjob.
"Oh so now it comes out. You think I'm crazy. Don't you!"
-Well... yeah. But it's a crazy world and I'm crazy about you and..."
"Stop. I have some plastic gloves."
-Where are they?
"I filled them with water and put them in the freezer."
[Perplexed, nonplussed look.]
-Okay. Let's just do this. You'll have to hold him down and..."
She ran into me full speed, knocking me to the ground, ending up sitting on top of me while I was lying on the floor. "You were going to DO it! You DO love me!!!"
-Get off of me; I want to do this right. I want to get on one knee...
"You're flexible. You could bend that (pointing to my right) leg under you. Here, just fold...
[Several moves that are nearly impossible and painful ensued]
-I'm trying to propose to you! Get off of me or at least let me get the ring out of my pocket.
[She digs around in my pocket and pulls out the box, then hands it to me.]
-Will you marry me?
"Not with that ring. It's ugly. Take it back."
-I'm not sure I can, I had to have it resized.
"You bought it at _____'s? Not a problem. Ari went to art school with my mother. He'll do whatever I want. I've got a ring here for you to use. [Searches.] Here. The stone's not the size of a doorknob, but it'll do. Ask me again."
I got down on one knee (which hurt a lot from having been bent sideways a few sentences back), held out her ring and asked her to marry me.
"I'll think about it. What's in it for me?"
- C'mon. Who else is going to stick their fingers in your dog's butt just because you asked.
"Well, alright, you sweet-talker, you."
[I'll leave out the story of how that relationship ended. It wasn't pretty.]
Going up the country
1 day ago