The parking space

Pin It GUEST BLOGGER: MISTY

I belong on the beach, but live in the desert. I belong in a hammock eating mangoes, but somehow have ended up sitting on a plastic lawn chair in the street eating otter pops. Every Mini Cooper that drives by I’m pretty sure should be mine, while the huge Suburban is the car I actually have the keys for. The great thing about my life is that I have all of things I never thought I could have and I can’t have all the things I thought I wanted—every sticky kiss and chubby-armed hug I get brings me one step closer to the perfect life; I wouldn't have it any other way...

Driving into a parking lot with my husband can be excruciating. The way I see it, there are two kinds of people in this world: the decisive and the indecisive. I am proud to announce that when choosing a parking spot, I am decisive. Paul, on the other hand, will pass by 10 perfectly good parking spaces only to pull into one that isn’t any better than the rest. That, my friends, is called indecisive.

Picking a wife is a little trickier than picking a parking space. There are consequences to passing by 10 perfectly good potential wives only to pick the next one that comes along. Keep that up and you might not get one at all. It’s a good thing my husband had the good sense to pick the best option right from the start, albeit on the indecisive side of things.

I will have everyone know that he deserves the beating he is about to get as I describe the details of “The Worst Proposal in History.”

A little background: Paul gets home from a two year stint of service (we call that a mission where I’m from) with only one thing on his mind.....date as many girls as possible and kiss them all. (Sorry honey, Blogging isn’t for the faint of heart.) He meets me. We date. Yep, just me. Poor Paul just dated little ole’ me, and before he knew it I was telling him that I was done being pals.

Translation: If you’re gonna pick this parking space you had better do it, because it isn’t going to remain available much longer.

Under duress the poor guy had to make his move....and here is how it went.

We drove into his parent’s driveway. He checked the mail. He ended up with a REJECTION letter from the Brigham Young University. He turned to me and said, “So, what would you say if I asked you to marry me?”

(My thought: “Oh, sure, get a rejection letter from a place that actually HAS an endless supply of girls you can date and kiss so just settle for the one sitting in front of you?!” Next thought: “What a baby! Probably can’t even pick his own stinking parking spot without help.”)

My answer? “I guess you would have to ask to find out, wouldn’t you?” He did. I did. End of story? Not even close! THREE MONTHS later Paul is still halfway in and halfway out of the parking space. He hadn’t REALLY decided what he wanted, he was just stalling. I handed back the engagement ring and told him he could keep it. Well, he had a nice heart to heart with his dad. He prayed. I won’t go into detail here, it isn’t my moment to share, but I will say this, I looked really good in that wedding dress.

Paul and I have now been married for 14 ½ years and I am still waiting for a redo on that proposal. However, let’s skip the driveway and rejection letter this time. Take me straight to Hollywood, baby!