I have a story for you. Think of it as a children’s book. Short and sweet. With pictures.
We’re in Bali, Indonesia.
It’s very beautiful here. Beaches. Sunsets. Lots of pink. Lots of humidity and frizzy hair, too.
You can have dinner on the beach in Bali.
Like this. During sunset.
A Romantic Dinner. Or so it said.
The seven bug bites and two bloody mosquitoes she killed during the 20 foot walk to the table was…not so romantic.
There was fancy food.
It’s a creamcheese snowman with a caviar hat. Festive. In a New England Christmas sort of way.
Six courses requires lots of silverware. And bread. Because it’s delicious and free.
The food was the most decadent they’ve eaten in a month.
The steak was the most delicious they’ve eaten in a month.
After dinner but before dessert something happens. It starts with a box.
A box acquired in Hoi An, Vietnam. Its contents specifically chosen and held on to for three weeks, for this night.
The man stands up and starts talking. The woman interrupts him to ask if she should stand too. She does.
Then the man kneels.
He asks the woman if she would marry him. She says “of course yes!”
They celebrate with sparkling wine. Her favorite.
They both relish that they had the fanciest dinner and got engaged in bare feet.
Then dessert. Tiramisu for her.
Mango tart for him.
They dip their feet in the Indian ocean, a first for both of them.
Then they take an uber back to their hotel. Glorious technology.
The next morning the call all the family and spread the news.
Hot Shit her dad said.