Their first date, nearly two years ago, had been the town lift ride in Park City and Timothy (Sometimes I call him Timmy. He loves it. But not really.) thought that would be the perfect setting for his proposal.
He and I had been working on the plan for two and a half weeks. But Frit’s a tricky one. Had I just said, “Hey, let’s go to Park City for the day,” she would’ve told me that she couldn’t, too busy, no time, Saturday’s the only day to get stuff done, blah, blah, blah. So I knew it had to be elaborate. And definitive. And requisite.
Lucky for me, I work for a travel agency. And sometimes I go to meetings where we win travel packages. And so I lied. One morning, I laid my trap. “Hey! So I have this work luncheon today and it’s supposed to be one with prize drawings. Cross your fingers I win something awesome.”
Around 2:00 p.m. I began texting her. “Ugh, this luncheon is so boring! I’m just biding my time till the drawing!” “Ooo, here we go! Wouldn’t it be awesome if I won the Delta passes?!” “Boo. We didn’t win the overnight stay at the Grand America.” “We didn’t win the Brookstone gift certificate.” And on and on. Until I texted, “Woohoo! We won a Park City weekend! We got an overnight stay at Deer Valley and lift tickets and dinner and a ride on the Alpine Coaster!” Then I told her it expired at the end of June so we’d better get planning. I even made up a little flier, complete with Park City logos and contact information to make it look legitimate. And she bought it. Hook. Line. And sinker.
Saturday rolled around and I told her we needed to leave by about 11:30/45ish. She didn’t think we needed to leave that early–that she “needed” to run some errands. And because I didn’t want her to catch on, I obliged (albeit reluctantly), and tried to keep her moving at the Wal-Mart, the bank, the Post Office. And then, just as we were about to finally hit the road, she decided she needed a smoothie. Oh, and then she needed to try on some dresses she’d bought the week before and would I help her decide which one to keep. (Oy vey!)
Poor Timmy. He had flown in that morning (he lives in Iowa), made his way to Park City, bought the lift tickets and left them at the ticket booth in my name, and was waiting, waiting, waiting (and baking in the hot sun) while I tried to get Frit out the door and while she lollygagged around.
But finally we were on the road, and finally we made it to the Park City ski lift, where I was handed the tickets I “won,” where we got in line, and where I said, “Oh maybe I should go to the bathroom first,” and where Frit got a little worried that she was wearing flip flops and maybe she should go back to the car and change into her TOMS. And as she turned around, there was Timmy–walking towards us with a bouquet of sunflowers (Frit’s favorite).
“Wait. What are you doing here?” She was completely confused, continuing to stammer about her flip flops, and “what about the overnight stay, are we just not going to do that?” and even turned to me at one point and asked, “Well, are you going to come with us?”
Yes, Frit. I’m going to come with you. I’ll just squeeze in here between the two of you. Timmy, I believe you had something you wanted to ask Frit? Don’t mind me.
When she finally got her wits about her, and stopped yammering about her flip flops, the two of them smiled for a picture, and off they went. To the tops of the mountains. Where he told her he loved her. That he wanted to be with her for forever. And would she marry him.
She said yes.
And that is the story of how I lied and Timmy proposed.