In an unfortunate turn of events – and a big middle finger from the universe – it just so happened that my little sister’s promposal and my engagement to my longtime boyfriend occurred on the same weekend.
She got a trail of rose petals leading her into an open pavilion filled with over 100 candles, and a handmade sign reading, “Will you go to prom with me?” Plus, he brought her a RT 44 and a hot dog from Sonic.
My fiancé (though that standing is currently on thin ice), Aaron, took me on an arduous two-mile hike and, before I even had time to catch my breath, he was on one knee, asking me to marry him. There were absolutely no RT 44s involved and I was sweaty, out of breath, and sunburnt. Sure, he hired a photographer to secretly capture the whole thing, but at what cost? Now we just have 45 photos of us looking like absolute shit at the top of our local overlook on an overcast day.
Now, my family won’t stop gushing about how cute my sister’s promposal was, and it seems like they’ve completely forgotten that I’m the one who just got engaged.
My mom even posted four Instagrams in a row of my sister’s promposal, with captions like “Welcome to the family, David! Haha jk.” and “These two make me believe in true love,” but only posted a single story of my engagement with the caption, “Guess he finally did it.”
How are you supposed to react when an Instagram post of your sister’s promposal gets more likes than your literal engagement photos?
The thing is, I’ve never been one to care much about engagements, or wedding culture in general, which is why my boyfriend opted for a more low-key proposal. However, I never expected my actual proposal to coincide with my little sister’s junior promposal. Obviously, at that point, it becomes a direct competition.
Of course, I wouldn’t necessarily want to be in competition with a couple of 16-year-olds when my boyfriend and I are both almost 30, but I really had no choice in the matter.
Now, for the rest of my life, my engagement will be overshadowed by the grand romantic gesture of a 16-year-old who my little sister described as “a math class friend.” Needless to say, I’ll never recover from this.
Now, I guess David is coming over for dinner next week, even though prom was weeks ago and he and my little sister don’t speak outside of math class. My mom said Aaron could come too, but that he should probably bring a bottle of wine or something to “earn his spot at the table.”
