Brandon and I had been dating for only a handful of months when I came home from work to find him in my kitchen, making a batch of marshmallows. He was standing at the counter, a chef's knife in hand, cutting an enormous slab of marshmallow into squares. He looked up, grinning, and motioned for me to open my mouth. Then he slid one of the cubes onto my tongue. It was downy and sweet, and between my teeth, it put up only a wink of resistance before melting away.
There had been signs all along, but that was the clincher: I was going to marry this man.
Of course, I did wait a month or so to let him properly propose - I wanted to do it the old-fashioned way - but from the Day of the Marshmallow forward, I knew it. He would be mine. It's a good rule of thumb, I think: If you meet someone who makes marshmallows for you, snatch hum up as fast as you can. Not only will you have a companion to keep your feet warm at night, but chances are, he can teach you to make marshmallows, too.
There had been signs all along, but that was the clincher: I was going to marry this man.
Of course, I did wait a month or so to let him properly propose - I wanted to do it the old-fashioned way - but from the Day of the Marshmallow forward, I knew it. He would be mine. It's a good rule of thumb, I think: If you meet someone who makes marshmallows for you, snatch hum up as fast as you can. Not only will you have a companion to keep your feet warm at night, but chances are, he can teach you to make marshmallows, too.
1 comments:
From the "Day of the Marshmallow" forward, I knew it.
He would be mine.
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