Every girl loves diamonds, but not every girl is educated about them – like me. Don’t ask me about about cut, clarity, color, and carats, or the difference between trillions and trapezoids, because I have absolutely no clue. Mountings, galleries, pave, micro pave, filigree…say what? It’s all another language I never learned, but a lot of my girlfriends seem to speak it fluently.
As word spread of our engagement, I suddenly realized how many of my friends and family had given up on any chance of me ever getting married. Their reactions ranged from shock and awe, to stunned disbelief, to much joy and elation after it all sank in. But the prevailing emotion by far was relief. Huge, deafening sighs of relief.
Oh, ye of little faith. You didn’t think it was gonna happen, did you? Yeah, well, neither did I.
One Friday night in early August 2013, Robby and I were hanging out at his downtown L.A. loft/bachelor pad/man cave, drinking wine and having a perfectly nice time, when the subject of moving in together came up.
That’s when everything went to shit.
Finally, the words I’ve waited fifty years to say: I’M ENGAGED. Why now you ask and not five years ago? Ten years ago? Twenty years ago? Not sure, but I think it has a little something to do with the right time, the right guy, and being in the right place emotionally and personally. Being a late bloomer had a lot to do with it, too.