When Jon proposed to me, I wasn't so much blindsided as squashed under a comedy piano made of Total Shock. I'd been at a convention all day, he'd volunteered to make dinner. I got home, and the dining room was tidy, there were candles all lit (I'd assumed to cover the damp smell from the laundry), and he'd bought carnations.
It was when he rocked up with the bottle of sparkling rose I knew something was up. The minute he fumbled for his pocket, I panicked. Horror written clearly across my face. My panic made him panic, and if he'd prepared a speech (which he claims he had, but I'm not sure), it fled from his mind.
Eventually he managed to choke out,
"It's a hat."
Which was true. It was in a jewellery box shaped like a cowboy hat, as per a ridiculous engagement requirement I'd set out as a joke when we'd visited Calgary that summer.
After a long, and utterly agonising pause, he managed to add a rather sheepish,
"Will you marry me?"
The yes was a given, but I think he thought I might react a bit more... gracefully.