After gathering up the courage to propose, picking up my grandmother’s engagement ring (from a FedEx depot) and presenting it to my bride-to-be, I figured my work was mostly done.
By Will Jovanovich
After gathering up the courage to propose, picking up my grandmother’s engagement ring (from a FedEx depot) and presenting it to my bride-to-be, I figured my work was mostly done. Sure, there would be the family meet and greets, the occasional trip to look at wedding bands or interview caterers, but nothing that would rise above, say, moral support for my future bride’s endeavors.
As time went on, my betrothed began to take issue with this arrangement. As a 21-year-old who had just moved home from college, she didn’t have an army of friends and close relatives who could plan every detail of a wedding, which was growing in size and scope by the day. Our 14-month-long engagement was going by faster than we had imagined, and she needed help.
“I just spent seven hours at the stationer’s picking out our invitations. You need to take charge of something, anything,” she pleaded. She was in the right, of course, but realistically what could I do? We had already decided on the church, the banquet hall, and the band. I had no natural talent for decorations and was allergic to flowers. It didn’t seem as if there was much chance for me to make my mark on this occasion.
While perusing one of the dozen or so wedding magazines that Sarah had strategically planted around my apartment, I finally saw a chance to make my future bride proud — the honeymoon. To make up for my past laziness, I was going to give my beloved a vacation she’d never forget. After many hours of research and investigation, I found what I believed was the journey we were destined to take. And I knew Sarah would love it too, but something told me I should run it by her first.
My pitch started out well enough. “Honey, what if we went to New Zealand?” “Wow”, she exclaimed, “I’ve always wanted to go there. But, with a mild note of concern, “is it a romantic place? What would we do there?”
There would be lots to do, I promised, as this would be no ordinary trip, but rather a “Lord of the Rings”-themed honeymoon. “We’d ride on horseback from the Shire, following along the hobbits’ journey to the fires of Mount Doom.”
She took it well, I thought, and then revoked all my decision-making powers.
Ultimately, we spent two wonderful weeks in Bermuda, where the sand was pink and the water was warm but nary a hobbit could be found. Much like Frodo’s companions, some of us are just meant to follow.
