I got engaged in a Costco parking lot.
It was a dark and stormy night, and Manny—the man I’m married to now—and I were making our regular monthly Costco run. As we passed the jewelry section, I spotted the most unusual and beautiful emerald ring. We had talked about marriage before, but only talked about it. We paused, and Manny casually said, “Nice stuff.” I replied, “Yes, that emerald is gorgeous.” He stayed noncommittal. Just then, a Costco employee wandered over and asked if we had any questions.
I spoke up. “Yes—how much is this ring?”
“Just under $500,” he said.
I was floored. But then again, it was Costco.
I looked at Manny. He looked at the employee and said, “Thanks, we’re just looking.” Then Manny turned to me and suggested, “Let’s head to the wine section.” As we walked away, I glanced back at that ring one last time, already feeling oddly attached to it.
As we wandered through the wine aisles, I felt an overwhelming urge to go back and at least get the order number for the ring. I told Manny I needed to use the restroom and would be right back. Instead, I made a beeline for the jewelry case.
The employee was there—but the ring was gone. My heart sank. He apologized and explained that another couple had come by right after we left and bought it. “Things don’t last at Costco,” he said. “They come and go.”
I nodded miserably and walked away.
I stomped through the store looking for Manny, irritated, emotional, and completely annoyed with myself for realizing how badly I wanted that ring. When I finally found him, he immediately noticed my face and asked what was wrong. I told him I’d gone back because I loved the ring, but it had been sold, and we should have just bought it and put it away.
He shrugged and said, “There will be other rings. After all, it’s Costco.”
From that point on, I spent the rest of our shopping trip in stony, dramatic silence—like a petulant teenager. When we reached the checkout, Manny suddenly started arguing with the clerk. He was being a total royal tool, completely out of character. As the transaction finished, he turned to me and said, “Take these out to the car. I need to speak to the manager. This muffin is an idiot.”
I did a double take. He never spoke like that. I asked if he was having a stroke. He growled back, “For once, can you just do as I ask and not argue?”
I was furious. I flipped him off right there in Costco, mentally plotting his demise, grabbed the groceries, and stomped out like an enraged toddler.
It was pouring—cold, ugly Portland rain in November—which only made everything worse. I unloaded the groceries while Manny casually strolled up. I shoved the cart at him and told him to return it. He ignored me, opened his car door, then silently took the cart back.
When I tried to get into the passenger seat, the door was locked. I stood there, soaked, cold, angry at Manny, and heartbroken over that ring. Eventually, he returned and unlocked the door. I climbed in, buckled my seatbelt, and glared straight ahead.
“You’re sitting on something,” he said.
“No, I’m not,” I snapped. “And I’m not talking to you.”
“Yes, you are,” he replied calmly. “I saw you.”
I dramatically unbuckled my seatbelt, determined to prove he was full of it. I stepped out of the car and looked.
There, on the seat, was a ring box.
I nearly died.
“Go on,” he said, his eyes dancing. “Open it.”
Inside was that ring—the emerald ring. I burst into tears.
Then he said, “Do you remember our first date?”
I nodded through sobs and croaked, “We went to dinner and then shopping at Costc-oooo.”
By now, it was full-on ugly crying.
“I think it’s only fitting,” he said, “to ask you to be my wife in the place where it all began.”
So, of course, I said yes.
Later, he delighted in explaining how he pulled it off. While I was admiring the ring, the jewelry clerk stood behind us as Manny discreetly pointed and signaled that he wanted to buy it. When I went to the restroom, they tried to finalize the purchase, but I walked back too soon. The clerk smoothly told me it had been sold, and once I left, they staged the fake argument to send me out to the car.
That’s how I got engaged.
We were married on September 12, 1998.
