The Story So Far...

So here is how it all happened:

On Tuesday, October 4, 2005, thanks to a mutual friend, we agreed to meet at the Dead Poet, a short walk from Kelly's apartment on the Upper West Side. There was some concern about missing the new episode of Gilmore Girls, but Kelly assured me that she would let me get home in time to watch my stories. Several pints of Brooklyn Lager later, though, we were still sitting there. I never did find out what happened on the show that night, and frankly, I've been a little resentful ever since.

But not resentful enough that I didn't ask her out again, mostly because she was a pretty good kisser. Yes, undaunted by that old Sex and the City maxim that says a woman should never kiss until the third date (but MUST kiss, then), Kelly—in all other respects a proper Iowan lady, of breeding and decorum—verily mauled me at the end of our first evening together, if we can expand the definition of "mauled" so that it also means "turned to me outside the door of her building and said, 'Now is the part where you kiss me goodnight.'"

Everything was a whirlwind after that—a whirlwind with kissing. There were suitors besides me who had fixed their sights on Kelly's heart and hand, but I trumped them all with the old "rent a car for the day and take her up to the Sheep and Wool Festival in Rhinebeck" gambit. We saw a goat with devil eyes there, and yarn was purchased. And I knew I had finally won her over—that all the times we'd spent together had become integral to her very being—some weeks later, when we walked past the Dead Poet and she said to me, "That's my local bar. I take a lot of first dates there. We should go sometime."

Fast-forward to January 2007. We were still together, had only argued once the entire time (after which we promised to never fight again), and I had just gotten her a beautiful pair of pink tourmaline and diamond earrings for Christmas, to match the pink tourmaline pendant I'd given her the year before. I had no idea what I was going to do for Valentine's Day. But I'd met her parents over the holidays, and had liked them, and they had seemed to like me; and my parents already liked Kelly, and she had survived a few days with them and my brother and me in Fargo, in the winter, even after intensive knee surgery, and still wanted to be with me; and we weren't getting any younger; so I thought, "Maybe I could get her an engagement ring for Valentine's Day." I had a feeling she would like that, and I suspected there would be more kissing.

On February 10, we attended a wedding in Indiana with Kelly's parents, Allan and Sally. During the reception, while Kelly was otherwise occupied, I fortified myself with a stiff drink, pulled up a chair next to them, and asked for their blessing. They told me they'd need to see some paperwork and asked for my Social Security number and a copy of my credit report. They took my fingerprints. They subjected me to a rigorous series of tests not unlike the physical fitness component of the President's Challenge. But ultimately, they gave me the green light.

So on Valentine's Day, after dinner and Frozen Hot Chocolates at my former place of employment, Serendipity 3, the exchange of gifts (including literature and other diversions), and a glass of wine or two at Fred's, I surprised Kelly by getting down on my knees in the slush just outside her apartment building—at the same spot where she had mauled me only a year and a half before, desperately hoping for kisses—and singing a song that went something like this:

Ladybear, Ladybear, give me your kisses
Ladybear, Ladybear, will you be my missus?

It was not a great song, but my world-renowned mellifluous voice, as well as the Hearts on Fire Dream diamond in the ring I was holding (I have an excellent jeweler), made up for whatever lyrical flair was missing.

We rushed inside, partly to phone our respective families and partly because it was really pretty cold out there. I called my grandma in California and said, "Grandma! Happy Valentine's Day! I just got engaged!" And her response, naturally, was: "Have I told you that goddamn brother of mine died?"

And so here we are: Kelly and I are scheduled to be wed next summer, we still go to the Dead Poet, and my Great-Uncle Dominic is still dead. We are really excited (I mean, not about Uncle Dominic, but it was his time), and our love continues to grow, and to permeate the very air around us, with every passing day. (We know it is our love, because we just cleaned out Kelly's fridge last week, so it's not the leftover taco meat.) We couldn't have done it without our family and friends (well, we probably could have done it without Tony, but whatever), and we love you all very much and invite you to join us for our COUNTDOWN TO BLISS.