A marriage proposal by letter is not necessarily a bad thing. Physical distance can be a real barrier to a face-to-face proposal; for example, a soldier overseas may well have good reason not to want to wait for an opportunity to kneel by his or her beloved and offer him or her a ring. In addition, a written proposal gives the proponent the opportunity to wax eloquent in a manner that may not be within his or her capabilities in an impromptu setting (or even after hours of rehearsal). However, given the choice, even a shy or ineloquent person who is about to propose marriage should acknowledge this step as the intimate, life-changing event that it is, and do the deed up close and personal. The object of the proposal will most likely care more about the poetry of the moment than the poetry of the spiel.
Besides, a couple may mark the proposal date as another anniversary to celebrate, and perhaps have a romantic or humorous tale to go along with it. In my case, that would be two dates and one tale:
My guy and I were checking into a clothing-optional resort in Jamaica (I’d won a recipe contest and the prize was an all-expenses-paid vacation); I, not he, was kneeling, as the check-in desk was low and I was tired. The form had an odd question on it: were the guests engaged to be married or planning to marry during the visit? I looked up at my guy and asked, “Are we engaged?” It was a legitimate question. We’d talked about marriage; he’d bought me an expensive and gorgeous ring (and had murmured romantically, while slipping it onto my ring finger, “This is not an engagement ring.”) He frowned down at me and mumbled something about thinking it over. I checked “no” on the registration form.
A half an hour later, in our luxurious room, he turned to me and casually said, “I guess we’re engaged.”
That was his first proposal.
Two months and one week later, back in Minnesota, I took him to our favorite restaurant, for his birthday. On our way home, he insisted on stopping by a local lake. Minnesota has over a thousand lakes, and every last one of them is infested with mosquitoes in the summer. (They’re our unofficial state bird.) Nonetheless, he sat me down on a bench by the water, pulled something from his pocket, got down on one knee and asked me if I would do him the honor of becoming his wife. He had a ring to go with the request, although the “not an engagement ring” had by then become “the engagement ring.” This new one was just a prop. As sweet as his reproposal was, the mosquitoes found me sweeter, and munched on me until I was ready to cry, not from overwhelming sentiment but from the itch. I hurriedly accepted and begged to be driven home.
Could any of this have been achieved by mail? Certainly. Would it have been as romantic? Probably, considering the unusual nature of the first proposal. However, as much of a keepsake as a letter would have been, even considering his lousy handwriting and the fact that we might both be dead of old age by the time he finished writing it, the memory of his expression, trying to betray nothing, the first time, and of those infernal mosquitoes that he did not even try to swat away as he opened up completely the second time, is irreplaceable. Even when you’re scratching, up close and personal wins every time.
