I can’t remember the exact moment I laid eyes on Nicole, or even when we were first introduced, but I can remember the first moment we shared together. I’m pretty sure most of the people in that elevator remember it too. I kinda wish they didn’t. As with most of what I do, it started with a fleeting thought of “This will be funny”.

Let me backup a second. Nicole and I met in a graduate school at Syracuse University, where we would eventually earn our Masters Degree in Museum Studies. Before graduating from Castleton State University, Nicole spent the winter and spring meticulously researching graduate programs, searching for an apartment in Syracuse, and budgeting. I graduated from the College of the Holy Cross a summer earlier, and largely spent time cleaning carpets part time, drinking beer, and living at my parents, with my future plans largely boiling down to “Eh, something will come up”. Meanwhile, a destiny awaited.

To make a long story fairly short, I decided to actually turn my history degree into something related and ended up in the same Syracuse University Museum Studies program as Nicole. And that’s how we ended up in that elevator. It was the first day of orientation for the program, and I walked into the building knowing absolutely no one. I decided to make friends the old fashioned way: awkwardly interjecting small talk into other people’s conversations and hoping they wouldn’t stare at me until I went away. My plan was foolproof.

Until one of the office administrators decided to take us on a tour of the building. Approximately a dozen wide eyed museum nerds, including myself and the woman I would one day decide to marry, piled into the elevator with our guide. He took us to one floor to show us a classroom, and then we piled back into that steel box of silence and awkwardness to take us to another floor. Arriving at the third level, the doors slid open, and as we all went to pile out, the guide stopped us, saying “oh no, wrong floor, we have to go up one more”.

Inspiration struck. I knew it was my moment, my time to break the silence with a perfectly timed one liner. Everyone would laugh, I’d instantly become super popular, and all would be smooth sailing.

“Well if you’re getting lost I don’t know if there’s any hope for us”.

The silence was deafening. My smile faded. Someone in the back of that cube of shame stifled a quiet cough. We rode back down to the lobby without another word.

Was I proud of that joke? Not particularly. Little did I know that at least one person, a cute girl standing in the far corner of that elevator, had actually chuckled. Not loud enough to make me feel good about myself mind you, but she laughed.

I met her at a party a few days later. Her name was Nicole. She laughed at a lot more of my jokes that night. I had did it. I made a friend. She was from Vermont.

That cute brown haired girl and I took classes together, went to parties with our friends, went to lunch between classes, getting to know each other. We even shared out mutual love of Chipotle.

One day in February, we decided to go to dinner after class together. Just the two of us. You know, like a date.

Pretty soon we moved into together. We adopted a kitten and named him Vlad (like the impaler). We found jobs and moved again, this time to Connecticut.

Over 4 years, things haven’t changed too much. She laughs a little louder at my jokes. She still plans everything down to the smallest detail, which let me tell you, is incredibly helpful. I still give her a hard time because she can’t remember any celebrity’s name and because she makes fun of my Italian heritage by saying “Lasagna” with an exaggerated accent and hand motion. But we wouldn’t change a thing. I could not be happier that she said yes, and that she is actually going to be stuck with me (despite repeated warnings from my mother that she could, in fact, still walk away and not have to put up with my nonsense). Love you Mom!

July 4th in Vermont is beautiful. The last of the snow has finally melted, the sun is shining and the entire population of Randolph, Brookfield and Braintree--all 6,900--turn up for the annual town parade. Prize cows, local gas companies, the town production of Footloose, tractors and dancing groups all saunter down main street to entertain the crowd.

This year the Carpenter section of the parade viewers included Edie and Frank Foster, invited to witness the spectacle and the traffic that followed--the only time of year little old Randolph has a traffic jam.

In my mind my job for the weekend was to make sure the Foster’s loved the “802” as they hadn’t visited in almost 20 years. The task of making sure the weekend was full of activities and fun distracted me from the glances and whispers that followed at my parents' backyard BBQ.

Brookfield is “famous” for Sunset Lake’s floating bridge, the only floating pontoon bridge east of the Mississippi. This driveable bridge sits on the water of “the pond” and has a small public green where my sister got married. This was the scene of the proposal.

After eating, drinking and playing far too much cornhole for the day the sun started to set, signaling the floating bridge firework display. The entirety of my family and close friends made their way down the quarter mile hill to the bridge to ooh and ahh at the village display.

Once the fireworks had ended Nick began to lead me back towards the car to go back up the hill before pulling me into the gate of the green. Slightly confused I started to laugh at him and tell him we needed to go join the rest of the family. For a split second I do remember thinking it was odd how close everyone was staying to us, but then he knelt. As soon as he lowered his terrible knee (the result of years of triple jumping in college) I slapped my hands over my eyes. Immediately realizing what was happening I lowered my hands enough to see him.

“You’ve bewitched me body and soul and I love and never wish to be parted from you from this day on” is a quote from Pride and Prejudice, my favorite movie. This was the line that Nick said without error to me before raising the wooden ring box and asking me to marry him.

Now if you know Nick you will know that he is a wonderful person who has a streak of foolishness. As he opened the box with the gorgeous vintage style ring he had picked the ring box was upside down, ring on top. After a quick fix by me I said yes through both our tears.

I am so thrilled to be marrying Nicholas and sharing the experience with all of you!

Buying an engagement ring is stressful. It’s not really a guess and check kind of problem. It’s even more stressful for a person like me, who’s taste in jewelry does not extend far beyond “ooh shiny”. There’s an added level of stress when you’re trying to keep your shopping a secret from your soon-to-be fiancee, who you happen to spend the vast majority of your time with.

Luckily, between Nicole and I’s friends and family, I have 5 women who are generally more knowledgeable of both jewelry and Nicole’s taste than I am. Also Nicole kept a pretty extensive Pinterest board, which made life just a little bit easier. With this help, I found a beautiful ring that met the approval of all 5 women and managed to sneak it into the house without Nicole not knowing a thing. Step 1 complete.

Keeping this a secret was not an easy task. Anyone who has shopped for anything online knows that you almost immediately get bombarded with ads for that thing on every webpage you visit for the next 8 months. Checking my fantasy baseball team? Engagement ring ads. Reading the news? Ring ads. Trying to look up the name of that song I heard on the radio that I only heard half of the chorus of? Rings. There’s no way Nicole didn’t notice.

So I played it cool. On July 3rd we drove up to Vermont to Nicole’s parents' house for their annual Independence Day barbeque. She checked the weather on my phone. I saw it. She saw it. I saw her see it. Engagement ring ads.

“Hey babe, remember how you showed me that one ring you like on Pinterest a few weeks ago? Well now I’m getting nothing but ads for engagement rings on my phone. It’s so annoying.”

Smooth. If he weren’t a fictional character, I probably made James Bond jealous with my smoothness. She didn’t suspect a thing.

The next day the ring was practically burning a hole in my pocket. I, along with literally dozens of people at the cookout not named Nicole, knew that I was going to be proposing that night after the fireworks display at the pond in Nicole’s hometown of Brookfield, Vermont.

I’ll admit I was nervous. The afternoon slowly came and went, and we slowly made our way down to the pond, everyone giving me knowing nods and smiles. The fireworks were probably great. I was too busy trying to keep my hands from sweating to fully enjoy them.

The finale ended, and shortly after I pulled Nicole aside.

“So you know that I love you, right?”

She looked at me with a puzzled expression. It said “How much have you drank today?”

I eased myself down onto my right knee with some effort. This time I couldn’t see her expression at all as she covered her face with her hands.

I recited the line from Pride and Prejudice I had been watching on Youtube at work so I would remember it correctly. Nailed it. Smooth.

And then I opened the ring box upside down. Somewhere, Jane Austen rolled over in her grave.

It didn’t matter. She said yes. And for a man that doesn’t plan anything, it all went according to plan.

Love you babe!