My Not-So-Romantic Romance

I'm a hopeful romantic.
In high school, I read every romance novel I could get my hands on. I daydreamed about my dream man- tall, dark, handsome.  He'd be a college grad, professional, and wealthy.  I dreamed of curved staircases, fancy dresses, roses, dancing, maybe he would even have an accent.

If you've met the Handy Man, you'll know, he meets very few of those requirements. He is tall and handsome, and he does have an accent, if you count Utah-ese. Romantic? Mmmm, not so much.  But, that didn't stop him from sweeping me off my feet.

We started dating in July, and soon were seeing each other every day.   We were in love.  After a while, we talked about our future together, as though marriage was a given.  But, the words hadn't been spoken, the question not asked.  I decided I needed to take things into my own hands.  He needed some encouragement, some inspiration.

One hot August night, we'd been up very late watching a movie. We both fell asleep.  I woke in the early morning with a plan. (We just slept, people!)  I told him I wanted to go see the sunrise. I mean,  really, what would be a more romantic proposal spot than on a mountain top as the sun rose? Oh, yeah. This was going to be good. We got in his car and drove east.  We found some spot on the mountain above Salt Lake and sat to watch.  As the sun peaked over the horizon, I waited.  Light streamed onto the sleepy valley below us.  It was beautiful. It was romantic. He said nothing. He took me home.

I honestly don't remember what I did the rest of that day.  I do know I was not giving up.  When he came to pick me up that night, he asked the usual question, "What do you want to do?"  'Oh, I don't know. Why don't we go downtown?'  So, we did.  We found a parking spot and walked to- yep, you guessed it- Temple Square.  What better place to propose to your future wife than next to the place she'll become your wife?  We walked, we sat, we gazed. I put my head on his shoulder.  I waited. We walked some more. We left. Dang!

Later, we sat in my parent's home.  It was late.  My mom and dad were in bed. We were watching TV, or something. Then, in classic Handy Man style, he turned to me and said, "So, do you want to get married?"

I swooned. Seriously. I kissed him and told him yes!  At that moment, it didn't matter where we were or that he didn't use poetry or song. He asked. He loved me and wanted me. That was all the romance  I needed.

Today is the 20 year anniversary of that day.  Over the past two decades I've learned that my husband isn't about poetry or flowers.  There are no curved staircases and we'll never be rich. But, my reality is this- he is a hard worker.  He never complains. He's a good father.  He loves me for who I am.  He indulges my chocolate and diet Coke cravings.  He puts my needs and wants before his own.  And, he does the dishes every Tuesday night.

If that isn't romantic, I don't know what is.