A Modest (Marriage) Proposal
Thursday, February 3, 2011 at 10:00PM (no Irish children were eaten in the course of this production)
In the late ‘70s, I was pretty serious with Jean B., a very successful, independent lady who sold BMWs for a living. Late one evening, after the opera, we stopped by our favorite cozy little bar in downtown Houston, a hole-in-the-wall where the bartender starts mixing your special drinks the moment you walk in the door. Quiet and intimate.
It had been a wonderful evening and as we sat at the bar, knee to knee, holding hands, saucy banter turned serious and, in what I thought was an opportune pause, I asked Jean to marry me.
She said, “yes” and leaned over to kiss me.
“That’s great,” I said grinning and squeezing her hands.
Then she started to cry. With joy? Somehow I didn’t think so.
“Jeannie, what’s the matter?”
“You’re not...excited. Not jumping up and down. Ringing the bell. That’s what I always imagined it would be like. You should be running around the bar and out into the street, shouting, telling everybody.”
“Jeannie, there’s nobody here except us.” The bartender was in the backroom.
“Doesn’t matter. If you’re not excited about getting married, then forgot it. I take back my answer.”
Though I knew I wasn’t going to win, I said, “Jeannie, I’m sincerely and genuinely excited.” I hurried to the end of the bar and rang the brass ship’s bell, usually struck only when a patron comes up with a joke that makes the bartender laugh.
“Sorry, Tommy, it just isn’t enough. It has to be spontaneous.”
Jean and I continued to date for several months but somehow never reached that particular juncture again. But we’ve remained friends to this day, both married to better matches, Jean for thirty years. In all these years I’ve never asked Jean’s husband whether he rang the bell and shouted to the roof tops.
XXX