Wedding: Here Comes the Groom: Decent Proposal

Nothing says "Marry Me" like a pound of bacon

I knew I wanted to marry Kathleen. I knew the type of ring she wanted (princess cut, white-gold band), thanks to a few subtle (and not so subtle) hints. What I didn’t know about the whole proposal process was how desperately I’d want to get the ring out of my hands and onto hers as soon as I got it. But in all of the ring planning, I hadn’t given much thought to the proposal itself. So I consulted one of her closest friends.

I knew I wanted to marry Kathleen. I knew the type of ring she wanted (princess cut, white-gold band), thanks to a few subtle (and not so subtle) hints. What I didn’t know about the whole proposal process was how desperately I’d want to get the ring out of my hands and onto hers as soon as I got it. But in all of the ring planning, I hadn’t given much thought to the proposal itself. So I consulted one of her closest friends.

She rattled off suggestions that were earnest and charming, good enough to be used on a TLC reality-show program: Long weekend at the beach? Romantic dinner and a hot-air balloon ride? A personalized fortune cookie in a champagne flute!

I, on the other hand, was looking for something more … immediate. I wanted to catch Kathleen off guard — and quickly. I offered my own suggestions: How about if I set a small kit-chen fire? Have the furniture removed and pretend we just got robbed? Fake a terminal illness? These were not going over well. The friend went back to simplicity.

“How about you just make her breakfast in the morning — like breakfast in bed. You can have …”

I tuned out the rest of what she was saying because my mind was made up: I’d hide the ring underneath a pound of cooked bacon. This was perfect. I love bacon. Kathleen just recently started to love bacon. And, well, we love each other. Overly excited, I blurted out my plan to her friend.

“No, A.J. No. You’re not doing that.”

Too late. My mind was made up. She sighed.

“At least bring her champagne? Please?”

The ring was shipped to my parents’ house, and I drove there to pick it up. I told my parents the proposal plan. My mother protested. My father rolled his eyes. That was good enough for me. They even had an extra pound of bacon in the fridge.

“Mind if I take this?” I said. They rolled their eyes again.

The next morning I crawled out of bed and offered to make Kathleen breakfast. She offered to go out and get coffee. I told her she wasn’t allowed because, well, that’s all I could think to say. It was like I just grounded her, forcing her to stay in the room for no apparent reason whatsoever.

I rushed out of the room and began to cook the bacon, leaving the ring in its box on the counter. I looked at it sitting there, becoming engulfed in bacon smoke, and started to think that maybe this wasn’t the best way to do this. But the bacon smelled great by that point and, also, I really wanted to give her the ring. I put it on a paper plate and covered it with two Bounty towels. After the bacon cooled off, I piled it on top. It was then I realized I’d prepared nothing else: No eggs. No pancakes. No juice. Just bacon. I called her out anyway. I placed the bacon on the coffee table, cued up a sappy song on the iPod, and began filming with the digital camera. She was on to me immediately. She playfully lifted off the bacon and feigned surprise when she saw the box. She opened it. She cried. I filmed.

“You’re supposed to say something …” she said.

Right. I did. She said yes.

The next few hours were filled with her talking on the phone. “He did it over breakfast,” she told most people. I wanted to interject, “Actually, it was under breakfast …” but I let her have her moment.

Thankfully, we have the rest of our lives to tell everybody how it really happened.