We’re Practically Engaged

Yeah, I think it’ll happen any day now.

come to me, my pretty…

From the time we met, I knew he was the one. How’d we meet? Wait, you haven’t heard the story? It’s pretty classic. I stepped onto the train. He was standing directly across from me. He vaguely glanced in my general direction, then looked back down at his Apple watch. That’s when I knew.

You’ve heard of love at first sight, right? Well, this was better than that. It was love at first peripheral glance. I mean, we weren’t exactly making eye contact. But I swear I could feel him peeking at me over his rumpled copy of “Moby Dick.” He’s the literary type.

I can’t say it enough: Good relationships are built on communication. Remember that. As for us, we don’t really need words. It’s like when you see those sweet elderly couples sitting on park benches holding hands. They don’t talk to each other because they don’t need to. They’re one heart and one soul fused together by two speckled, wrinkly bodies. And that’s exactly how we are — except young and hot. We are so hot.

We kind of have our own secret language. I know — so cheesy! He’ll run over my toe with his bike on the platform, and that means “I love you.” He’ll clear his throat softly while we’re en route to our stop, and that means “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.” He’ll frantically push me aside in an effort to get off the train every morning, and that means — well, that means something kind of naughty. It’s important to keep things spicy when you’re in love! Remember that.

My biggest piece of advice to you: It’s important to share interests when you’re in love. He and I, we’re basically the same person. We both get off at the Damen stop, for example. Also, we both have backpacks.

They say you know when you know. Well, sister, I know. Last week, I caught him eyeing my ring finger. You know what that means, don’t you? I mean, I suppose he could have been peering down at the grocery bag full of human feces that someone left beneath my seat on the train. But I’m pretty sure he was looking at my finger.

Of course, not everyone understands. My friends have asked if I know where he lives (yes, but only because I stealthily followed him home last month) or if we’ve ever had an actual conversation (uh, yes! Just last week he looked me dead in the eye and said, “Do you know that you are stepping in a bag of human feces?”)

Don’t get me wrong — every romance has its ups and downs. Yesterday, he walked in front of me as we ascended the stairs to the platform. That was an up. This morning, our train went down this huge hill. That was a down.

There’s really no room for jealousy in a mature relationship. Sure, it can be challenging when I peek over his shoulder and see him texting a string of eggplant emojis to some tart named Olivia. Actually, he really, really loves texting about produce with Olivia. I just have to brush it off and tell myself that I’m the one he shoved aside in an effort to escape an aggressive busker screaming the lyrics to Manfred Mann’s “Fox on the Run.” Does he have that kind of a connection with Olivia? Doubt it.

Changing my last name? Yeah, I think I will. I don’t know. Call me old-fashioned. Last week, I snuck his credit card out of his wallet, memorized the numbers and inserted them into an online numerology generator to divine our romantic future. FYI, the news was very good.

Anyway, according to the credit card, his last name is Thompson. I think that would complement my first name very nicely.

Now, I just have to wait for him to pop the question. Don’t worry! You’ll find someone someday, too.

Anyway, thanks for listening, Dr. Cochran. I feel like these sessions have been really helpful. Anyway, same time next week?

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