I don't even watch The Bachelor. Okay fine, I've watched a couple of episodes here and there...and I got way into some of the past seasons. But it's not one of those TV shows that I look forward to all week.
So tonight, when I tuned in (somewhat accidentally) for the season finale, I wasn't at all prepared to end up sniffling and writing this post. I don't even care for the girl British Matt chose. She seems kind of phony. But when he got down on one knee and opened that ring box in front of her, the chord inside me that's tuned for engagements and weddings twanged. And the next thing I knew, the waterworks were in full effect.
There is just something about that moment. When a man kneels before you and tells you that out of every other woman he has ever met, he wants to be with you. He wants to wake up to you each morning. Kiss you goodnight as he falls asleep. Share secrets and sandwiches and a bank account. He wants to give you his last name; take you on as his family. He wants to be your husband.
Almost every girl dreams about that moment from the time she is little. I've played it out again and again—changing the face of the fiancé, or sometimes giving him no face at all. Just imagining that feeling of...wow...this is it. I've waited a long time for it. I'm one of the last of my surviving single friends. And as much as I'm anxious for the moment to arrive, I'm willing to wait for it. Because I know when it does, it'll be better than I ever could have dreamed.