Bound Together

Lo and behold, after my last post, in which I briefly mentioned my engagement and then said I would save that story for when Betty Beguiles asked for it, she asked for it! Which is very timely, since after an excess of poker and a perfect amount of vodka last night my head is hurting just a wee bit and my creative juices are not exactly flowing. More like trickling pathetically. So I’ll just tell you about the Ogre’s proposal!

Unlike most stories you read, our engagement did not happen in the first blush of innocent love. Rather, I was four months pregnant on the night that the Ogre came home from class and took me shopping for something nice to wear to dinner.

I knew the engagement was coming. A few weeks before, the Ogre showed me the diamond his mother had given him to give me. It had been his grandmother’s engagement diamond, and he had it re-set on a simple white gold band that we had chosen together.

As the reality of our impending engagement approached, however, I grew increasingly depressed about it. I knew that this bed was of my own making, but I was still bitterly disappointed about the way my life was turning out. I would never have the romantic story of a surprise engagement, a beautiful, happy wedding, and a joyous pregnancy announcement. Our story would always be tainted by our disordered passions.

The Ogre felt it, too. He saw my discomfort when people noticed my swelling stomach and my bare left hand. He saw my awkwardness around many of our friends and family, where my very appearance was a testament to our sins. And although he knew as well as I did that neither of us could undo what we had done, he still wanted to make our engagement as special as possible. He wanted me to have those things that every girl wants, a dream engagement and a lovely wedding, in whatever way I could.

So he came home from class on a Friday afternoon and took me to Macy’s for a dress. It was my first time shopping with him, which was a delightful experience in and of itself. The Ogre has a great eye for clothes and always picks out things I would never dream of trying on, things that almost always look surprisingly good. On this day he chose an elegant little black dress with fluttery cap sleeves, a cowl neck, and a sparkly brooch at the empire waistline. I hate brooches and would never have chosen this dress, but when I put it on, it was perfect. I felt truly lovely in that dress.

After I got ready we headed to Addison. He valet parked my humble little Altima in front of a gorgeous Italian restaurant that I had been dying to try since it had opened, as it was the only Italian place in the city that had Caprese salad with genuine mozzarella di Bufala.

We ate a divine dinner, talking about our baby and the logistics of our life together, and then dessert came unbidden. The waiter set a gorgeous piece of tiramisu, my favorite dessert, down in front of me. On the top were two cylindrical wafers, one of which had a sparkly, glittering engagement ring around it. Written in chocolate sauce around the edge of the plate were these words:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams


They were words from Yeats’ poem, “He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven,” which is our poem. (We’re English majors, you know. We have a poem the way normal people have a song.) I think the meaning of those lines will only be fully appreciated if you read the whole poem, so here it is.

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.


Even though I knew it was coming, I still lost my breath when I looked up from the plate and saw the Ogre on one knee in front of me. What he said next was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, and in the excitement of the moment I promptly forgot most of it and have been trying to remember it ever since. But what I do remember is that he never said, “Will you marry me?” Instead, he asked me, “Will you bind yourself to me, for all of our lives?”


I’ve always loved that he asked that. It is so much solemner and so much lovelier than just, “will you marry me?” And it is so true. We are bound together forever. Storms will come and go, our love will ebb and flow, and still the bond that holds us together will remain.