Have you ever felt that perhaps you have too much money? That the money you have set aside for a house, a car or that kidney transplant a doctor has told you that you critically need, could be put to better use? Perhaps it could be better spent making someone else's hand worth more than most people's car, well then perhaps you, like myself, have recently decided to get engaged.
My name is Alex Smith, I am a 25-year-old comedian and I have recently asked my best friend to be my wife. Don't panic - unlike the expression, this man's best friend is not literally a dog (or 'literally' in the way that intellectually useless people use the word literally). I know I can literally be a bitch. (I can't, and as aforementioned neither can she).
It turns out that making the decision to get engaged is 0% of the actual work it takes to become engaged - nothing like the films.
First thing's first, you have to buy a ring.
Now if you want my advice then when embarking on such a mission enlist the help of your mother, her mother or her best friend, basically someone loving, enthusiastic and sensitive. Don't, like me, ask for the aid of your stout, ginger, sarcastic friend, whom in the past has been likened to a grown up garden gnome: who the other garden statues were not welcoming to and the abuse suffered at the hands of the plastic flamingos has left him jaded and cynical. And if this attitude weren't brightening enough to the experience most of the shop owners looked at us as though I had purchased an internet bride riddled with false advertising.
I returned home with nothing but memories, which again apparently you can't propose with:
Man: Judith you complete me, I must spend the rest of my days making you the happiest woman on the planet
Woman (or man called Judith): Oh Crispin I can't believe this is happening, show me the ring.
Man: Weeeeell instead of a ring I give you this memory; it is of a time that I did a poo that had hit the water but hadn't yet left my bottom - it is one of my most cherished memories.
Woman (or Judith man): I'm leaving you for Quentin
And quite frankly I wasn't going to let Quentin steal my lady that easily. I had to keep looking, and so I went to the only place that I know of that sells everything! Including a 'pocket hose,' THAT'S RIGHT a hose so compact you can take it anywhere; hose in the park, hose in the library, hose in different area codes. Anyway, I digress, the internet would of course be where I would find the perfect ring: one of a kind, custom made, diamond cut chrome tourmaline surrounded by 16 clear cut diamonds... And at about £100 per descriptive word how could I go wrong.
Whilst my betrothed was away on a business trip I had the ring delivered and I spent a few days just staring at it, and by staring at it I mean wearing it round the house and pretending that 'Father had married me off to the wealthiest land owner in these here United States.'
On her return the wife-to-be wanted nothing more than to unwind from the stressful trip with multiple meals out, shopping trips and so forth. In a play when the audience knows something that the characters don't it is called 'dramatic irony', in real life it is called 'FUCK YOU!!!'
At this point all that is left is to plan the proposal, pay for the proposal, ask her father's permission, buy a ring box, have the ring insured, get.... Oh fuck it I'm leaving her for Quentin and his pocket hose.
The Gnome and me.
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