If the ring fits…

So… I went to Paris. And while I was there, I sorta kinda maybe got engaged. Awesome, right? Yeah, it actually totally was:

It was raining. We were walking around the gardens on Claude Monet’s estate, in the small town of Giverny about 90 minutes outside of Paris, France. The rain wasn’t heavy, just a light drizzle. The light gray sky made the colors of the flowers brighter.

We first explored the artist’s house, meandering from room to room, glancing at his possessions and admiring the copies of his most famous works. We then wandered the walkways of the garden, through the bamboo reeds and over the infamous Japanese footbridge. We actually stopped to smell the roses over and over.

There were dozens of other people around us, pushing us out of the way for the perfect photo or standing in silence beside us as we soaked in the beauty around us. The rain wasn’t keeping anyone away; we know as we were hit by our fair share of umbrellas, crowding the paths.

We stopped at a small turn in the path, so I could take a picture. When I turned back to Jason to say something, he was leaning over, picking up what I thought was a coin that he spied on the ground. He showed it to me; it was not a coin, however, but a ring.

“I found this ring on the ground,” he said, “it doesn’t fit me. You should have it…. and then marry me.”

He put the ring in my hand. I smiled and put it on my finger and quietly (though quite excitedly) said, “yeah.” We kissed. Took a photo of ourselves. And no one around us noticed.

Perfection.

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