A Reason To Talk About Myself

When I was in 8th grade, I received a coveted award from the most pretentious and particular English teacher Oxford Junior High had ever employed. I spent all year trying to dazzle her with my creative writing and trying to break the barriers of her perma-frown and uppity 8th grade writing criteria. On the last day of school, when the auditorium filled with all the restless students ready to bust out of the building for a much needed summer break, Mrs. Parsons stood in front of the student body and handed out an award she had never given before. It was a diary. For me. She said she wanted to give me a gift to let me know how much she enjoyed reading all of my material over the last three years. What?!?!? VICTORY! And when I opened the diary, a personal note was inscribed on the inside cover. It read, “As you begin the story of your life…”

I start with this only to admit that I’ve been writing the story of my life by means of a journal ever since and have never had any reason to share any of what I’ve had to say with anyone. Many of my friends (with children) have started blogging, and I’ve been a bit jealous that I’ve not had children to use as my excuse to do the same. A blog about just me? Snooze fest. And, it would not entice a single reader (with the possible exception of my dear friend, Alisha, who most always makes a point to say she really “enjoys” my e-mails). Bless her. Buuuuuut…. now I’ve got this uber life changing event going on, and I’m ready to use that as my excuse. I’M GETTING MARRIED TO GEORGE BRUNO, and I’m gonna blog about it.

Friday, May 22, 2009, George asked me to marry him, and without any hesitation whatsoever, I accepted with all my might! We drove to Thomasville, Georgia and in the middle of a light rain, he proposed underneath The Big Oak, a 326 year-old tree with a limb span wider than Niagara Falls is deep. It was perfect and beautiful and better than I could have written for myself. The proposal, or what I can remember of it since I was in shock for some of it, went a little something like this:

Me: “I love this tree. We should have our engagement photos taken here!”

My Future Husband: “Or we could just get engaged here?”
Me: “Okay! When?”

My Future Husband: “We could do it today.”

Me: “Seriously?!?!?”

My Future Husband: (turns a pale shade of green) “I love you Jebbee, will you marry me?”

Me: (the whole world gets a little fuzzy, and if I’m not mistaken, I saw butterflies playing flutes and wearing pajamas, as this is where my shock sets in.)

Shortly after, the most beautiful and commanding ring took comfortable residence on my left hand, where it will stay (and potentially cause traffic accidents) until I’m old and senile.

I have celebrated my ring in every possible lighting scenario, and have found the brightest of sunny days and the lights of parking garages bring out “his” most magnificent sparkles. And, since I have a name association obsession, he has been appropriately named, Sparkley.