that one time I got engaged

As I was absent last week, I missed the Words of a Wanton Woman topic. And since I'm a stubborn biotch, I'm writing about last week's topic today. So there.

I was engaged once.

Yup. Was. Honest to blog.

I'll wait for your shock to subside.

I knew Joe (not his real name) in high school. He was my friend's pesky younger brother. Apparently he had a crush on me back then. But I just thought he was irritating.

I met him again in May of 2005. I had just been through one of the toughest years of my life and was in a very vulnerable place emotionally and looking back? I think Joe spotted that. He found a girl who feeling low and moved right in.

Since this post is supposed to be about his proposal, I'll just briefly say how Joe was by far one of the worst guys I dated. He was controlling and manipulative and moved much too fast for my comfort but he had convinced me we were meant for each other and that I wouldn't do better and because I was so wounded from the prior year's events, I believed him.

Side note: Joe never hit me. But I understand now how perfectly intelligent and strong women can end up in an abusive relationship. These kinds of men find you when you're at your lowest and take advantage of that.

Anyway, he even moved in without asking me. It began as long distance and he went to school near me. So it started with overnight bags then a drawer of stuff and then before I knew it, he lived there. I felt trapped but didn't do anything about it.

We had discussed getting engaged, had even looked at rings (I of course didn't want a real diamond because we all know how I feel about the diamond trade), but I'd thought we were looking for some point way in the future when we both felt ready.

And I guess he was ready. Even though it had only been like 4 or 5 months.

It was his birthday and I don't even remember what I bought him, but it was in a large gift bag with lots of tissue paper. He fumbled around with the bag for like 3 minutes until I was thinking, Can he not find it? Pretty sure I put a gift in there.

He pulled out a velvet box and asked me point blank would I marry him.

I sat confused for a good minute.

Thought, I do not want to marry this guy.

And then I said yes.

Brilliant, I am.

And then I stared at my hand in shock and something akin to horror for a few days until I had a panic attack and gave him back the ring.

We didn't break up. Lasted another six months or so. Until I finally had the courage to break it off.

But he managed to make my life hell for some months after that. But that's a story for another day.

Pee ess? Therapy is a beautiful thing. I highly recommend it.

parents love me or they hate me

My darling friend Lizzy has this new blog hop happening: Words of a Wanton Woman:

And I've decided to play along. You should too. This also officially counts as me pimping this out. Done and done.

So this week's topic is meet the parents. Hooboy. Should this one be fun!

Generally, parents love me. Especially dads. I get the, "you let me know if he doesn't treat you right" speech pretty often. I love dads. They make life easy.

And with the exception of D's mom, who loved me too, moms can be a leetle protective of their sons. D's mom, though, was hilarious. The first time I met her, she stuck me against the wall and added my height measurement in pencil to those of her kids and their many friends and partners. She was just an uncommonly warm and welcoming woman (how's THAT for alliteration?).

But the mom who takes the cake is Joe's mom. (Joe is not his real name, but it's pretty damn close and he is the one ex who I would punch in the throat if I could because he's a little douchebag so I have no qualms using close to his real name.)

She hated me. HATED me. Seriously. Joe was her baby. And that made me the antichrist.

Apparently, even though she didn't take any time to get to know me in the slightest, my only goal was to steal her baby boy away and ruin him for all eternity. In her defense, that not that far from the truth. Snort. Riiiiight.

But really though, I don't mind if someone doesn't care for me. There are certainly plenty of people out there who aren't my biggest fans (shocking I know!) and I'm okay with that. Can't please 'em all. But I'd like that dislike based in some reality, especially if I'm seriously dating your son and you may have to deal with me for some long period of time in the foreseeable future.

Aside: that thought makes me throw up just a little bit.

But try to get to know me, woman! I was making an effort. She could have too. And if she still didn't like me, well then okay. But if I'm just a mysterious threat based in paranoia and an Oedipus complex, well that I'm not so cool with.

I could share many stories in which she did her damndest to snub me and make me feel unwelcome, but I'm feeling like that's all in the past and I'm over it. No need to drudge up old grudges.

But here is my advice for meeting parents:

1. It's trite but true: you can only be yourself. You can't make anyone like you. Either your partner cares about his (or her) parents' opinion or doesn't. And THAT'S what you need to know.
2. If a guy is so attached to his mother that if she hates you you're never going to win? Well, honey. That's how it is. You may have to accept that he'll never cut the apron strings and his mom is more important to him than a relationship. Move on.
3. Being polite never hurt anyone. I'm a big believer in holding the higher ground. When Joe's mom was acting like a snatch, I was sweet as pie. It didn't make one hell of a difference in my case, but I still felt like a good person. 
4. Be aware of the parents who like you too much. They may take it awfully hard when you break up. Just sayin'. 
5. Everyone likes baked goods. If they don't, run. That's just a bad sign.