So, when we last left our questionable romantic decision-making…
I was engaged.
Yep.
Fighter Pilot Dude had proposed on the way to the TOPGUN Dining Out in Lake Tahoe, and your girl was absolutely BEAMING.
I had the fabulous dress.
I had the handsome fighter pilot fiancé.
I had the beautiful engagement ring.
I was walking around a casino in Lake Tahoe thinking:
Well, look at me. I have clearly won at life.
Narrator: She had not.
But before we get to the evening’s festivities, we need to discuss The Ring Situation.
Before the proposal, Fighter Pilot Dude and I had actually gone ring shopping together.
I know. Romantic.
We looked at several rings, and I found one I absolutely loved. It had a center diamond surrounded by a halo of smaller diamonds.
Beautiful.
Sparkly.
Very much a YES, THAT ONE situation.
Except when he proposed…
the halo was missing.
Wait.
What?
I distinctly remembered there being considerably more sparkle involved when we picked this thing out.
According to Fighter Pilot Dude, the jeweler had messed up the setting.
Okay.
Things happen.
No big deal.
Except he then explained that I would need to give my brand-new engagement ring BACK so he could take it to the jeweler and have it fixed.
I had been engaged approximately twelve minutes and my engagement ring was already headed in for repairs.
Was this an omen?
At the time: absolutely not.
Now?
Ma’am.
The universe had apparently decided subtlety wasn’t going to work with me.
But I was blissfully unaware because I had a gorgeous dress to put on and a TOPGUN Dining Out to attend.
And I felt BEAUTIFUL.
After the Dining Out, everyone headed toward the casino. Most of the pilots were getting ready to gamble—including my brand-new fiancé.
So there we were, walking through the casino hand in hand.
Me in my fabulous dress.
Him in his uniform.
My engagement ring sparkling—well, sparkling minus the parts that were apparently on backorder.
And a random man at the casino looked at me and said I looked beautiful.
Well, thank you, random casino gentleman.
Then he looked at Fighter Pilot Dude and said something along the lines of:
“How’d he land her?”
Okayyyyy.
I’ll take it.
Then he noticed the wings on Fighter Pilot Dude’s uniform.
His face changed.
“Oh. I get it now.”
EXCUSE ME, SIR?
You managed to compliment me AND humble me in approximately five seconds.
Apparently I was beautiful…
…but not fighter-pilot beautiful.
Cool.
Thank you for stopping by.
Anyway, later that night, everyone decided they were going out dancing.
And I was EXCITED.
I had the dress.
I had the ring.
I had the fiancé.
I had nowhere near enough self-awareness.
LET’S GO DANCING.
Except Fighter Pilot Dude didn’t want to go.
Instead, he told me he just wanted to spend time with me.
Awwwwww.
Right?
My newly minted fiancé wanted me all to himself.
How romantic.
Except…
No.
That wasn’t exactly what happened.
Fighter Pilot Dude proceeded to spend basically the entire night suffering from some rather aggressive stomach issues.
So while everyone else went dancing in Lake Tahoe, celebrating and having a fabulous time…
I spent my engagement night with a man experiencing what can only be described as intestinal turbulence.
And now, looking back, I have questions.
The ring was already broken.
A stranger basically told me the fighter-pilot wings explained the relationship.
And instead of dancing the night away after getting engaged, my fiancé spent the evening conducting emergency operations from the bathroom.
HOW MANY OMENS DID I REQUIRE?
Did I need the casino lights to start flashing:
TRACY. GIRL. ABORT MISSION.
Because apparently that might have been necessary.
But that’s the funny thing about hindsight.
When you’re standing at the beginning of something, wearing the fabulous dress and staring at the beautiful ring, you don’t see omens.
You see explanations.
The jeweler made a mistake.
The guy at the casino was joking.
His stomach was upset.
Each thing by itself?
Nothing.
Just life.
But years later, when you already know how the story ends?
You look back and think…
Ohhhhhhh.
Maybe the universe wasn’t whispering.
Maybe I just wasn’t listening.
And somewhere in Lake Tahoe, I imagine the universe throwing its hands up and saying:
“I GAVE HER A BROKEN ENGAGEMENT RING AND DIARRHEA. WHAT MORE DID SHE WANT FROM ME?”
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