ignorance is bliss

Pretty much everyone knew but me. (and my parents still don't know unless they've finally checked their bazillion messages.)

here's the story:

Mark and Christy Chandler, very good friends of mine, who i've baby-sat/nannied for since i moved to Denver 2 1/2 years ago, knew even more than my sister Becky...less she knows the better since i can smell when she's lying a mile away (and since Christy can lie like a bear in hibernation...). Mid-week Christy calls me to babysit for them Saturday evening, fairly usual request, but she adds that they need to me drive up to the cabin and watch Olivia up there since they can't take her to the "reception" after their friends "wedding" up in the mountains. I agree. Saturday's sketchy weather and weekend holiday traffic makes I-70 nearly impassable so i call Christy to find out what they think about the roads and if they are still planning on going to the wedding and if they still need me to come up. She says they will keep an eye on the weather and roads and let me know. About an hour later she texts to say they don't want to risk the drive and are going to skip the wedding and go to a different friend's party here in the city (they have lots of friends) but still need me to babysit, this time at the hotel they are going to stay at. We make new arrangements for me to pick up Olivia from the hotel at 7:30pm and bring her back to my place to play and dance and draw and color. I head over to the hotel at 7:15. I'm greeted by a friendly doorman and then a happy desk clerk who, oddly, knows my name and tells me where the room and which direction the elevator is. I take the elevator to the 4th floor and start the unusually long walk down the hallway to the Chandler's room to pick up Olivia. I reach the room. My ears hear Carla Bruni's milky smooth french notes through the cracked door. My first thought: Paul. My immediate second thought: No Way. I knock and hear a deep "Come in". Mark Chandler's voice. Maybe? I push the door open. Definately NOT the Chandlers. Rose petals scattered on the floor and lit candles on the tables and window sill make me start to wonder that Olivia is not here. Sitting quietly in the corner is a face i recognize all too well but not at all expect to be seeing. I stand there for a few eternal seconds trying to register that i either need to call the Chandlers and tell them i can't babysit tonight or that maybe that was the plan all along. Paul walks over and hugs me. Its starts to sink in and i slowly begin to rethink the weeks previous events trying to decipher what was real and what wasn't. Turns out, not much was.

I was ok with that.

Paul got down on one knee; and i'll spare you the rest of the details since the rest of this ditty is fairly predictable. It would have remained movie spectacular for the rest of the night except my life incorporates bouts of hilarity i like to refer to as stark reality and, shortly after sitting peacefully soaking up the sweetness of the latest development, we notice a series of candles spilling wax onto the carpet. The next immediate bit of time was spent bellies to the floor throwing a mountain of ice on the pool of wax trying to freeze it and then painstakingly pick it out of the coarse fabric, but not after blowing out the other half of the romantic ambiance to avoid more wax drippage.

i love reality. (most of the time.)
stay tune for wedding date details...