Last night, Sean asked me to marry him. And I said yes. I know we’re Facebook engaged, but now it’s official.

Sean asked me at my apartment after we had gone out to dinner at my favorite Mexican/Salvadorean place in Palms, Gloria’s. While waiting for our food, I brought up something we talked about last fall. Then he told me that his friend’s friend was planning to propose to his girlfriend as she ran the NY Marathon, her first. I thought it was a dumb idea. So did Sean. We’d talked about proposals before and I’d expressed distaste for public proposals, jumbo screen proposals at Dodger Stadium, and proposals in the middle of a big family event. That may be great for some women, but not for me.

I brought up the marathon proposal again last night. “You know, now that I’ve actually run a marathon, I think a proposal then is an even worse idea. I know how I am, and I know I’d cry. And then I’d get boogers and that would affect my breathing. I’d be mad.”

Sean nodded and re-agreed. We laughed and ate more chips.

When we got home, I took some pictures of some of my marathon stuff and had Sean crouch down to take a picture of my shoes on the floor. It still hurts to squat and sit down. While I had my back turned to him, I got a text message. It was a Twitter update (I get Sean’s tweets via text message).

I turned around.

He was kneeling.

“The marathon is over… So I’m asking.”

I knew he was serious, but I still asked, “Are you kidding?”

He pulled a small black box out of the pocket of his hoodie. He opened it to show a ring.

He was silent. I started to cry.

“You have to ask me.” I wanted to hear the words.

He choked up a little as he softly uttered, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

He got up, we hugged tightly like we used to at baggage claim after weeks without seeing each other. We call it airport hugs. I sniffed and said something about getting boogers on his hoodie. He didn’t seem to mind.

“You talked to my dad right?”

“Yes.”

We hugged more and then I whispered, “I love you so fucking much.” He kissed me.

Then he let go and got back to the ring, still nestled in its box.

“Oh, let’s try this ring on. Let’s see if four and a quarter fits. It looks small.”

It wouldn’t go past my knuckle. I freaked out momentarily and then realized it was my right hand.

“Wait, this is the wrong finger.”

We tried the left ring finger, it got tight around the knuckle, but it fit.

Of course, I had to make some calls. My mom had actually called during dinner to check up on how I was feeling. I found out soon that my parents knew Sean planned to propose, but didn’t know when. Last week, he enlisted Lori’s help to get my dad alone on Saturday at the party/fundraiser. They were surprised it was so soon. Sean was too. He didn’t know he’d be asking last night, but he had to. The ring was, “burning a hole in his pocket” and he just had to do it.