Historic Flight.

So I met Jake 18 years ago. March, 1992.

I was washing my car when he pulled into my driveway.

I was not wearing a bikini, so he was probably attracted to my fine mind.

I think I covered it all rather well two years ago. You can read it here.

So then I was thinking about something else that happened in March.

It was four years later. 1996. Jake and I flew America West from Salt Lake to Phoenix. About halfway through the flight, the air waitress gets on the intercom and pages me to the front of the plane. I was pretty sure I was in some kind of trouble, and I hate getting in trouble. Passengers were silent and stared me down as I made my way forward, cause everybody else thought I was in trouble, too. I do not like it when people stare at me. Especially from behind. Is not my best side. My pits were very sweaty.

When I arrived up front, the nice friendly lady handed me a tiny polished wooden box and her little microphone and then I heard Jake, who was on the identical device, in the back of the plane. All the heads swung around to peep at him. I just kind of stood there, looking dopey, so the flight attendant opened the box for me.

(All heads forward again.)

It contained a ring.

Jake cleared his throat and asked me if I'd marry him.

(Heads back. It was like Wimbledon in there.)

I pushed the button down with my thumb and stammered something like sure, I will, cause I'm so good (I'm not) in front of audiences (and every eyeball on that flight was on me, leering out of heads leaning out into the aisles, or on necks stretched up over the seats), and there was whooping and clapping and whistling and all manner of celebration, and I grinned real big, grabbed my ring box and started back toward my assigned seat. The trip took like ten minutes, because everyone wanted to see the ring.

When I arrived, Jake kissed me and everyone started making noise again. And he said, you know, you can take it out of the box, if you like. And slipped it on my finger. And then I turned on my overhead light, buckled my seatbelt, and stared at my ring for the remainder of the flight.

And in celebration of these anniversaries, I give you the other half of my profile picture, which includes, appropriately, my other half:

I know. Hubba, right?

Happy 18 years. Happy 14 years.