The pressure on the modern man is outrageous when it comes to proposals. Buying the ring is just the entre into a world of irrational feminine expectations. The proposal, as Radiant told me as I was allowing my credit card to cool off before plucking it off the Robbins Bros counter and slipping it back in my wallet, must be "creative." "Creative?" Come on, give me a break. I mean, I agree in principle, but I just chafe under burden of new expectations. If someone handing you a mulit-thousand dollar ring doesn't make the event more or less memorable in and of itself then, well, I don't know what to tell you.
Having so said, I've got a great idea! Skydiving! She's never gone, I've never gone and, assuming things go well, years from now we'll both think fondly of our engagement whenever we're plummeting out of the sky. The chief drawback (aside from death) is the spectre of a fumble during the handoff and the ring falling into the endless expanse below us. As God is my witness if that thing goes out the door I'm going after it and gravity be damned!
Okay, its going to be skydiving. Get to SF on Thursday, go skydiving Friday and propose before the jump. A lot of the appeal for me is the symbolism. I'll make some calls and see what can be arranged. We'll see how it goes.
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