Roger Merriweather had always been a man of detailed plans. His friends joked that even his grocery list had a subplot and character development. But on the day he planned to propose to his long-time girlfriend, Lila, things veered wildly off script.
The plan was simple: a romantic dinner at a fancy rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. Roger would reach for the dessert menu, feign surprise when it was missing, and then "find" the engagement ring under the napkin. He practiced his line in the mirror, "Lila, you are the chocolate to my fondue, will you make me the happiest man alive?"
As Roger drove to pick up Lila, he rehearsed it so many times that even the car's GPS started responding with, "Yes, I will." But fate, wearing its mischievous grin, decided it was time for a plot twist.
Just as Roger pulled up to Lila's house, he saw a black cat dash across the road. Moments later, his tire hit a pothole the size of a small swimming pool. The car sputtered, groaned, and promptly gave up. Roger was stranded in front of Lila's house with a flat tire and the ring stuck under the seat.
Lila stepped out, radiant in a red dress. "What's that smell?" she asked, sniffing the air. Roger glanced at the steaming engine. "Romance?" he said sheepishly.
They decided to walk to the restaurant. Halfway there, the skies opened up as if auditioning for a movie about Noah's Ark. The couple ran for cover under an awning, where a busker playing the accordion switched to a mournful tune. Roger, soaked and shivering, reached for the ring, but it slipped from his wet fingers, bounced off the sidewalk, and rolled straight into a sewer grate.
Lila gasped. "Was that... ?"
"Yes!" Roger yelled, peering down the grate, where the ring glitteredmockingly. "Plan B?" he muttered.
They flagged down a cab, whose driver was more interested in his conspiracy theories than the road. "You see, the government is controlled by pigeons," he said, taking a sharp left. Roger's scream harmonized with the driver's tale of avian espionage.
When they finally arrived at the restaurant, Roger looked like he had auditioned for the role of "Disheveled Drenched Gentleman #3." But Lila's eyes sparkled. "This has been the best night," she laughed, wiping mascara-streaked tears.
Roger sighed, defeated but amused. "Lila, I lost the ring, my car, my dignity... But I can't lose you. Will you marry me, wet socks and all?"
Lila grinned. "Only if you promise we'll have more days like this."
The busker outside played a surprisingly upbeat version of Here Comes the Bride as the crowd cheered. The restaurant comped their dinner as an engagement gift, and a waiter fished the ring out of the sewer the next day.
Roger never planned a thing again, and they lived chaotically and happily ever after.
The plan was simple: a romantic dinner at a fancy rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. Roger would reach for the dessert menu, feign surprise when it was missing, and then "find" the engagement ring under the napkin. He practiced his line in the mirror, "Lila, you are the chocolate to my fondue, will you make me the happiest man alive?"
As Roger drove to pick up Lila, he rehearsed it so many times that even the car's GPS started responding with, "Yes, I will." But fate, wearing its mischievous grin, decided it was time for a plot twist.
Just as Roger pulled up to Lila's house, he saw a black cat dash across the road. Moments later, his tire hit a pothole the size of a small swimming pool. The car sputtered, groaned, and promptly gave up. Roger was stranded in front of Lila's house with a flat tire and the ring stuck under the seat.
Lila stepped out, radiant in a red dress. "What's that smell?" she asked, sniffing the air. Roger glanced at the steaming engine. "Romance?" he said sheepishly.
They decided to walk to the restaurant. Halfway there, the skies opened up as if auditioning for a movie about Noah's Ark. The couple ran for cover under an awning, where a busker playing the accordion switched to a mournful tune. Roger, soaked and shivering, reached for the ring, but it slipped from his wet fingers, bounced off the sidewalk, and rolled straight into a sewer grate.
Lila gasped. "Was that... ?"
"Yes!" Roger yelled, peering down the grate, where the ring glitteredmockingly. "Plan B?" he muttered.
They flagged down a cab, whose driver was more interested in his conspiracy theories than the road. "You see, the government is controlled by pigeons," he said, taking a sharp left. Roger's scream harmonized with the driver's tale of avian espionage.
When they finally arrived at the restaurant, Roger looked like he had auditioned for the role of "Disheveled Drenched Gentleman #3." But Lila's eyes sparkled. "This has been the best night," she laughed, wiping mascara-streaked tears.
Roger sighed, defeated but amused. "Lila, I lost the ring, my car, my dignity... But I can't lose you. Will you marry me, wet socks and all?"
Lila grinned. "Only if you promise we'll have more days like this."
The busker outside played a surprisingly upbeat version of Here Comes the Bride as the crowd cheered. The restaurant comped their dinner as an engagement gift, and a waiter fished the ring out of the sewer the next day.
Roger never planned a thing again, and they lived chaotically and happily ever after.
Support Stephen Warouw
