Where Did You Get Engaged?? Um…. Sizzler.

Let’s lighten things up around here, shall we? 

Everytime we pass the Sizzler in our hometown, Jeremy points to it and says, “Hey, there’s your favorite place!” and then he laughs for at least twenty minutes.  Ha. Ha. Ha.

The Back Story:

When I was a senior in high school and knew everything there was to know, I had a boyfriend.

He was a few years older than me, but was… how shall I say… inexperienced in the ways of women.  I mean, completely inexperienced.

I found his perceived innocence to be rather endearing.  A guy like that is kind of like a puppy, right?  You get to train him before he develops any bad habits.

We had been dating for about 5 months when he asked me if we could take his mom to dinner for Mother’s Day.  This guy, you know, he was a natty dresser and drove a cool car, had impeccable grammar and spelling, a nice smile, wonderful manners.  But none of that could be attributed to where he came from, capisce?

So I was loathe to take his rather loud mother, who had a knack for making inappropriate comments at the most inopportune times, to a nice restaurant.

I suggested Denny’s.  A place where she’d fit right in.

He said we needed to take her somewhere nicer than Denny’s.  He wanted to take her to my “favorite restaurant”, and all I had to do was name the place.  I had learned my lesson about taking his mom to nice restaurants a few months earlier – it just wasn’t going to happen.

So I said Sizzler.  That was as classy as I was going to go, and I wouldn’t budge.  No way in hell his mom was going to set foot in my favorite places, I liked those restaurants and didn’t want to be embarassed by her. 

I was 17, remember?  And I knew all there was to know.
 
Cut to the Sizzler parking lot.  We pull in, and I notice my good friend’s car.  Puppy says, no, it must just be a car that looks like hers.  Five months in and he hasn’t figured out I have a photographic memory, yet?  That’s her license plate, which means, duh, that’s her car.

He says, hmmmm, I don’t know, we’ll see if she’s inside.  She isn’t, which should have clued me in that something was going on, right?  But it didn’t.  So much for knowing all there is to know.

We were taking his uncouth mom to dinner at Sizzler, and that’s all there was to it.

Except.  During dinner, the server brought over a bowl with a box in it.  In the box was a ring.  Puppy proposed, one knee resting on the filthy floor of our local Sizzler’s.  In front of his mother.

The whole place applauded.  Which was deafening, given the cafeteria-style accoustics in the Sizzler dining rom.

Let’s just say, Puppies?  You don’t necessarily need to marry the first girl who teaches you a few things.

And girls?  Just cause a guy is a Puppy doesn’t mean he’s innocent or incapable of hurting you. 

Even puppies nip.  And pee on the rug in front of your friends. 

And pick up a few bad habits from their mothers.

**I’m guest posting  over at Let’s Talk Babies today!  Head on over!**