When I was five, I got engaged to a boy in my kindergarten class. Noah. He was cute, we sat at the same table, and we shared glue and scissors. When I moved away just before Christmas, he drew me a picture.
In second grade, Tommy McCann and I decided that we were going to get married when we grew up. In third grade, we were elected to the student council together, proving that our destinies were indelibly intertwined. It just made sense that we--the cutest boy and the smartest girl in the entire third grade (all 26 of us)--belonged together. Plus, his older sister had an amazing dollhouse and flowery hair-wreaths with pink ribbons and two pairs of sparkly fairy wings.
Somehow, I managed to go from then until now without receiving another proposal. Until this afternoon, while babysitting.....
Me: John, eat your crackers, please.
John: I need to tell you something. I need to TELL you something.
Me: Don't talk with your mouth full, silly. Chew. Now, what do you need to tell me?
John: I need to marry you. Can you marry me? And give me some chocolate milk. Please.
Three-year-olds are funny creatures.