"What Are You Doing?"

Is what my inner voice was telling me, but was quickly ignored. I mean it only makes sense that all my internal alarms would be going off. I mean no criminal would volunteer to be on death row, so why would I being of sound mind and body, sentence my single life to execution?

Yet here I was, standing at the counter of the jewelry store while the nice saleswoman was showing me diamonds. Quick tangent, but have you ever noticed that in a room, you don't jump nearly as high on a bed as you do on the ground? Where your brain is like "What the heck are you doing? I'm not gonna let you kill yourself..." That's what it was like for me standing at the counter. Half of me had my feet planted firmly on the floor ready to jump, while the other half was standing on the bed prepared to only take a half hearted leap.

Floor Jumping Bobby is like Usain Bolt, sprinting head first towards marriage. He loves the idea of going to bed and waking up next to the same person forever. Whereas Bed Jumping Bobby wasn't quite as committed to taking that giant leap.

So they argued. Well it's more like I argued, but the two halves and everything... you get the point. So in the end, standing at the counter, Floor Jumper won. I paid for the ring, although my mom commented that was the "shakiest she had ever seen my hand" when I was signing the receipt.

And all was well until I realized that I had to ask her parents permission...

Hello...

I would welcome you here, but since we are celebrating the end of someone's life, I doubt pleasant greetings are in order. I'm Bobby, and this is my blog that documents my struggles in engagement. I am writing this so that future generations will be both better equipped and capable of handling the potential pitfalls of engagementhood. (not a word... I understand.) I am constantly changing things so please check back often.