Our long-awaited happening is finally vacation.
Tee hee 'cuz I have plans for the trip that Lauren doesn't know about.
You see.
Back in July we were stuck in traffic by Soldier Field and decided it would be a good time to talk about marriage.
We discovered that we were both up for mortal foreverness.
I told Lauren though that I felt I needed to be a success before I could officially ask for her hand.
She thought this was stupid.
But she didn't use that word.
Instead she used the word "well" as its own whole sentence.
In her following sentence I learned that she would prefer to be married sooner than later.
It made sense.
I'll never be a success.
This is a good thing.
It means I'll always have some sort of goal.
If I were a success, I would have nothing to do.
I would become depressed.
Like those spacemen when they came back from the moon.
Talk about bummed out cosmonauts.
How do you top that?
With a twist of lime, I guess.
I don't need a case of the moonman's glum.
Anyway, I'm going to ask Lauren to marry me this weekend.
Probably on Saturday.
I don't know where or how yet.
I've been researching a few donut shops in the area.
More on that later.
Good news though.
The jeweler called to tell me the ring was ready.
But I had to wait until Lauren left the apartment to get it.
Around 6pm she did.
I moseyed over to the jeweler only to discover that on Wednesdays they close at 5:30.
"Rrrruuuggghhh!"
Okay.
So tomorrow I have to figure out a way to sneak out of the house without Lauren around 10am right before the vacation begins to get this goddamn (beautiful) fucking (wonderful) engagement (engagement) ring.
This ought to be fun.
Verdict: Loss
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