Prior Engagement – the problem with expectation

Although this is my first blog post, I actually wrote this long before it was published online – because let’s be honest, I didn’t want to seem completely desperate posting about my own wedding before I was even engaged!

However, I have two issues – one is that I have never been with someone that is so perfect for me, so I can’t help but imagine walking down the aisle to meet him and two is that I work for a Wedding Catering Company – I cannot escape them!

Almost every girl spends their younger years planning their dream wedding, and I was certainly no exception. In fact, I was worst than the average! I had the dress drawn out by the age of 10, and would happily tell any boyfriend I had that I wanted to be married by 20 like Mummy was. It’s funny how quickly things change.

My first serious boyfriend was my manager when I was working through my A levels, and he taught me about the things I wouldn’t want in a husband: he was a lazy, unmotivated,  unkempt bloke who didn’t know how to Hoover a living room. My second boyfriend wasn’t much better – a little less lazy, but a huge tendency to become the world’s biggest idiot when he’d had a drink, and a few too many features which made me think “God you’d make an ugly baby”.

Then in my year of teacher training, to become a Secondary school drama teacher I made a crazy decision to do an “Am Dram” panto to “ease my stress” and I fell for a techie over the New Year – his interest in theatre matched mine, he was a keen runner which made me think definitely not lazy and very motivated, and do you know what? Not a single part of him would make an ugly baby! Winner! Honestly, from New Year 2012 it’s been a whirlwind – he left a seven year relationship, within a week of knowing me and as cheesy as it sounds I knew from the moment I kissed him that I’d found the man I would marry. We were moved in together within five months of being together, and have probably spoke of marriage since about two months in – for many that would mean alarm bells going off, and shouting TOO SOON TOO SOON, but when it’s right, you know it.

I hear that some couples barely discuss marriage and proposals before the male proposes, but that has certainly not been the case with us – we’ve said we want to be married by October 2015, and all I’m waiting for now is for him to decide when the moment is right. It could be tomorrow, it could be a Year away but what I do know is that as soon as the time is perfect he will ask me that ever so magical question and the official planning can commence.

I guess the message I’m trying to get across is that you’ll know when it’s right… but there can be consequences to that…

So in October, around my birthday I learnt why expectations are a BAD thing to have. I know, I know…  Everyone is thinking I could have told you that but it was incredibly difficult not to have high hopes.

It was my birthday weekend and Drew was taking me to London for the night to celebrate but had not told me where we staying. I was told to take a nice dress for dinner in the evening, and to go up in smart attire because of what we were doing when we got there. My brain was going into over drive – “What if today is the day?” I thought to myself as the days got closer. I went to my beautician and got my nails painted… Just in case. I found my nicest sets of matching underwear… Just in case. I spent hours deliberating on the outfits I would wear for the evening and the day after… Just in case. And my god it stressed me out. When we pulled into Liverpool Street Station I was still none the wiser, until we walked outside and instead of getting on the tube, or getting into a black cab, a door was opened for me which belonged to a very shiny Mercedes. I grinned at Drew, making him aware that I was pleased of the extra effort he had obviously gone too, but there was still one problem – I had no idea where we were going.

We drove through Central London, past Nelson’s column and down the famous shopping streets but I still had no clue. But then I heard the driver say something about Regent Street – ok that sounds pretty central, and then we pulled up…

Now I’m not a stranger to the nicer things in life, I’ve always had nice holidays, and have stayed in some beautiful places, but nothing came close to this. The entrance was gold and grand, and a man in a bowler hat opened the door for me as I approached. I was trying my absolute hardest to stop my jaw from dropping. We checked in at a desk I could barely see over and I heard the word “deluxe” and it sunk in quite how much effort he had gone to. We were escorted up to the third floor, lead down a long elegant corridor and shown to our room.

It was stunning. A bed big enough for four (and you’d still be able to stretch out) a sitting area, a mini bar with my complimentary champagne sitting on ice ready for our arrival, and the bathroom – I’ve never seen anything like it, except for in the movies in a James Bond film or something; floor to ceiling marble, the biggest bath I’ve ever seen, a huge mirror lit up around the edge – I was in complete 5* luxury!

He popped open the champagne and informed me that we had a dinner reservation within an hour so I turned on the radio, and danced and drank and got into my nice dress. It was in this hour that I first began to think that he might pop the question. We were dancing along to familiar tunes and taking “Selfies” as the kids like to call them now. I felt so in love – it just all seemed picture perfect but it didn’t happen.

We went down to have dinner, had more champagne and a stunning three course meal. I had a happy birthday dessert and then we had a final drink in the “Grill Room” before we went back up to the room. By this time I was rather drunk and insisted upon a bath at midnight with champagne, thinking “it could be now! It could be now!”. But it wasn’t.

The following morning we awoke and went down for breakfast and for a chance to sample some of Café Royal’s stunning pastries, although I’d be a liar if I said I really enjoyed it – champagne hangovers are not the nicest. We then checked out and begun shopping along regent street,  heading up towards Selfridges and then back down to the theatre. The show we went to see was phenomenal, and in the half hour before curtain up, the audience were allowed to go on stage and have a drink with the actors – another chance? Me being a performer, I thought surely he may have considered proposing on a West End stage? We went up and listened to the Irish tunes that the actors were playing and the atmosphere was fantastic. We were holding hands and smiling, but not a ring in sight.

To be honest, the whole weekend consisted of those sort of feelings – oh my god, it could be now! And as much as I just wanted to enjoy the weekend for what it was, there was a tiny disappointment in every wonderful thing we did.

The final moment was when we left my mum’s on the Sunday after having a lovely big roast round there, and I thought he could drive me from here, to the theatre where we first met, or the spot on the seafront where we first kissed – but we went straight home and I had to try my absolute hardest to not show my disappointment. The weekend was over, and it had just been all singing all dancing for my birthday, not because he was going to propose.

Now don’t get me wrong, I loved every moment of the weekend. I was completely spoiled, and He reminded me just how lucky I am to have such a thoughtful, exciting, caring boyfriend – he thought of every little detail. But when hopes are as high as mine are, it’s easy to be disappointed.

Don’t let your hopes and expectations ruin lovely times, if you’ve got an inkling they are going to do it – just ride it out, don’t expect it. It’ll come.