Yesterday, I asked Doobie to be my wife. She said yes.
The long of it goes like this.
Doobie and I met 4.5 years ago when I was working as a barista a coffee shop here in Oakland. I had just moved back to California from Seattle and was content to be living like a hermit in my studio apartment. But there was this girl that kept coming into the shop. She was always smiling. In spite of my attitude, I found myself smiling back.
I finally got the nerve to talk to her. She was my age, also from Northern California, and had coincidentally gone to school in Seattle. We marveled at the fact in all the time we had been living just miles from each other, we had never met. She had travelled all over, and was about to depart to Gabon in Africa for a stint in the Peace Corps. I was hooked.
For our first date, we drove to the lighthouse at Point Reyes. She picked me up from work and we set out. Doobie brought sandwiches of avocado and cheese. A safe bet, thinking I might be vegetarian, but never knowing that I hated avocados. Or at least thought I did. Not wanting to ruin the moment, I started in, suprised to find every bite more delicious than the last. This would be the first of many foods I would come around to under Doobie’s watch.
Needless to say, she didn’t go to Africa. Instead we lived in each other’s company, introducing friends and family along the way.
So after all this time, we found ourselves back at that lighthouse in Point Reyes. We walked to a secluded spot that overlooks the Pacific, and with a shaggy deer in attendance, I asked Doobie to be with me always. We laughed and embraced and began to dream.