About the Engagment: The Power of the Press
I’m a writer. He’s a journalist. We live in D.C., we’re in love and we’re making it official.
On Saturday, Sept. 1, he hopped out of bed at 7:30 in the morning, let the dog out, and asked if I wanted to get breakfast. This was unusual, primarily because prior to this day I’m not sure he was aware that there was a 7:30 a.m. on Saturdays. I teased him that he was particulary chipper because it was the first day of college football season. He smiled and we headed out the door.
A short distance down the street he said he wanted to run into Starbucks and asked me to grab one of his newspapers out of the box in front. So I walked toward it and then turned to tell him that the front of his paper looked a little wierd because it had a full-page story. But then I whipped my head back toward the box when I realized the huge headline said, “[Bridal Bird], Will You Marry Me?” and had a picture of him. I wheeled around and he was down on one knee behind me holding the ring. I said yes. I jumped into his arms. The Starbucks barrista ran out and offered us free coffee.
Best. Day. Ever.