ANTON MELLIPOPS THE QUESTION

Ok, so it’s official. Mother’s – unlock your sons. Mellipop is off the market.

So as previously posted in the midst of my post-proposal stupor, I am now engaged. That was very Dr Seuss of me, by the way.

Work was crazy yesterday. For people who have known me only a relatively small amount of time, they were all incredibly excited and sweet about the whole thing. I felt the first sensual ticklings of Bridezilla egomania, if I’m to be totally honest with you. There’s nothing like a wedding to get people talking. I felt like Bec Cartwright, when she first got engaged to Lleyton Hewitt. Though Anton and I look more like Steffi Graf and Andre Agassi.

The actual proposal itself was a bit of a comedy of errors, earning me a nomination for the “Numbnuts of the Week” award. And I reckon I’m a shoe-in to take the title this week, just quietly.

So Anton had the day off on Tuesday, and went to buy the ring. Unbeknownst to me, he had been planning this for a little while, and had been researching engagement rings on the internet.

I had no idea it was coming, of course. Though I have to admit, there have been a couple of occasions in the past few months when the issue had been raised. Ok, so it involved certain instances in which I had one more glass of wine than I ought to, and set about in my subtle way systematically shouting Anton down about the fact that he was never going to propose to me. I mean, I never thought it would actually work. I am walking testament to the power of drunkenly, belligerently badgering your partner to propose.

THE ANATOMY OF A BOTCHED PROPOSAL

4 pm – I get home from work. Anton has had the day off. He asks me to go down to the beach with him and the dogs. I’m taking advantage of a break in the shitty Perth weather to go for a run. I say no. Anton says he will meet me down at the beach with the dogs. I tell him not to stop me mid-run.

4:30 pm – Down at the beach. Contrary to my prior warning, Anton tries to stop me mid-run, by standing in front of me with outstretched arms. He asks me to stop for five minutes to hang out with him and the dogs. Completely oblivious to his intentions, I tell him no, push past him and keep running home. My gammy knee is holding up, see, and I want to keep going.

I fail to realise what a complete nob I am being. I am literally running away from a man who is trying to propose to me.

4:45 pm – I’m on the home stretch, running up the street our house is on. Anton is parked by the side of the road with the dogs. He flashes his lights at me. I go over to the car. He tells me to get in. We’re going back to the beach. This irritates me somewhat. I am sweaty and soon to be cold. Anton is prepared for this. In the interim he has gone home to get my jacket and a bottle of cold water.

4:55 pm – Back down at the beach. The sun is starting to set. I’m starting to shiver. And we’re still throwing the ball around for the fucking dogs.

5:25pm – Anton says that we should head off home. I am relieved. While still on the beach, he hands me both dog leashes, tells me to stop, close my eyes and hold out my other hand. I think he has picked up a dead fish, or some other grotesque item he’s found on the beach. I close my eyes and keep my hand out anyway, berating him in advance for whatever nasty trick I suspect he’s about to pull. I open my eyes suspiciously at one point to see him struggling to pull something out of his pocket. I am told to close my eyes again.

5:26 pm – I finally open my eyes and Anton is down on one knee with a ring in his hand. The exchange goes something like this:

Anton: Will you marry me?

Mellipop: Are you for real?

Not exactly the stuff of romantic legend. I mean, I have two excitable Staffies on leashes wrapped around my legs, both trying to run away so they can devour some tiny little fluffy dog further down the beach.

Plus, my first reaction is that I think he’s joking, due to a conversation we had just the the night before regarding a good friend of mine who told me he was going to propose to his girl. I was semi-joking, semi-hounding Anton about the fact that he was never going to bloody propose to me.

It’s all a bit of a blur after that, but I believe that Anton had to prompt me as to what my answer was going to be. I think I said yes. I guess I did.

I then spent the next two hours barely speaking from shock. I couldn’t even call my folks. Though I did have two very vague conversations with a couple of mates – one being the guy I spoke to the night before about his proposal, the other being someone who saw my first post on the blog, and called me within ten minutes of it being up.

I did call my mum the next morning. By that stage I had recovered enough to play a little joke on her. I told her that I had some news for her. Then I told her that I was pregnant.

I’m such a horrible child. And now I'll be a horrible wife, too.