Three Momentous Christmases--Part One...

...The One Where Greg Asks Me To Marry Him (Or, as Greg would call it, "Thanks to Bev.")

Christmas 1972. We had been dating for almost two years, and I knew Greg was the one. I kind of knew he felt the same way. I dared to wonder if he might not think Christmas would be a good time to ask me to marry him. You know, merry...marry, and all. Deciding that that would be a great idea, I let my imagination play. I wondered how he'd ask. Would he take me someplace fancy, get down on his knee, maybe? Would he ask my dad for permission?

Then he started asking me to guess what he was giving me for Christmas. Hmmm. Clues? He said it was round. I knew it! I guessed "record album?" No. Not that. "Frisbee?" Nope. Guess again...I couldn't come up with a thing (wink, wink). I was happy with my little fantasies, but it was hard to wait.

One morning about a week before Christmas, Greg pulled up outside the trailer that was temporarily housing the savings and loan where I worked. He stuck his head in the door and asked if I could come outside for a minute. There were no customers, so Jane, the head teller, gave a nod. I think I knew what was coming down, but I couldn't figure out the awkward timing. There he stood in a tee-shirt and jeans, his jacket unzipped. I remember exactly how I felt, but I can't remember the words he said. He just told me that he had been planning to ask me to marry him, had bought a ring, and had showed it to Dave, my sister's boyfriend. Later, Dave told him that he had shared the information with Bev, but that she had promised not to tell. Greg, not sure that he could trust my sister with such enormous tidings, decided to hurry up and surprise me before it was too late.

That's how I came to be engaged, shivering outside a mobile home at the end of a parking lot on December 19, 1972. Oh--I said "Yes."