Holy smokes, how did it creep up on me again? As a bit of Friday Fun, I invite you to share your most memorable Holiday Themed stories.
One of my most memorable Christmases was the year that I carefully opened and re-wrapped all my presents. The other one that jumps out at me was the year that my mom signed me up for ballet lessons.
Of course, there’s also this one from six years ago:
PC and I dated for five years before he proposed, counting the times we were “just friends.” I was getting antsy, we were serious and the marriage discussions started. In addition, we shopped for engagement rings. I settled on a not too expensive anniversary band that was small and simple. I started getting excited, he was going to pop the question soon.
That Thanksgiving was the first year I went to dinner with his family as well as my own. Oh my were there a lot of relatives squeezed into that small house. Tables were set up in the living room and there was barely room to move. I met a lot of PC’s relatives for the first time. I nearly shot PC when it was over for abandoning me to an uncle who expounded mercilessly. Somewhere around this time he told me not to expect a proposal this Christmas because it just wasn’t time. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. I refused to even enter jewelry shops with him because I was disappointed.
Sometime right after Thanksgiving, I received a call from my father at work.
“Why does PC want to meet with me?” he queried.
My heart leaped clear out of my chest.
“Probably because he wants to ask for my hand in marriage,” I said regaining control of my heart.
“Are you pregnant?”
“What!” I said. (If you knew me you would know that this wasn’t even a remote possibility).
“Well pregnancy is a good reason to get married,” he said.
“Dad, I’m not pregnant. Ever heard of love?”
I think there was some grumbling in response to that.
I told poor PC that my dad ruined the surprise. He kept insisting, though, that it wouldn’t be for Christmas. To make matters worse, every time I was at his house, I would shake all the boxes and declare that my ring must be in that one.
On Christmas Eve, we decided to exchange gifts at PC’s house. There was this huge box under the tree. I’m serious, this box was four feet tall and two feet wide and deep. I figured that it was a doll since I collect such things, and PC bought me some pretty spectacular dolls over the years. While we were opening gifts and he wouldn’t let me touch the box, he wanted to save it for last. I opened all the ring size boxes and they weren’t rings.
Finally, the large gift was the only one left. I ripped the paper off that box, opened the lid and inside was another gift wrapped box. At least ten boxes later, though I would need to check with PC for the exact number of boxes he used, I finally reached a tiny ring sized box. I started to shake. I knew my ring would be in the center as soon as I saw the second box, but I guess it didn’t sink in until I got to the actual box. I pulled the paper off as quickly as I could, opened the box and it was empty!
My heart thudded to the floor. What a cruel joke. I looked at PC who was on one knee in front of me with the ring. I don’t even remember what he said, but knew I said yes a bazillion times and insisted on calling everyone I knew. PC actually limited me to three calls, my grandparents, my parents, and a close friend.
Do you know where PC had the ring? Hanging on the tree for at least two weeks. I never saw it and I was over at least a few times after he hid the ring in the tree.
I can’t remember exactly what happened after that. PC’s parents came home, I think we went to dinner. I arrived home late and showed my ring off to my siblings and may have called the rest of my friends. I don’t even remember what else I received as gifts for Christmas since I spent the day staring at my ring. This may have even been the year that I received my first sewing machine.