Rollercoaster of a night

My emotions are shot to pieces. I don’t even know where to start, nor how much to say. But I’ll give it a shot.
Tonight, I went out for a meal with a friend. For some unknown reason she suddenly started to ask me what I have done with my wedding and engagement rings. I don’t even remember how we got onto that conversation!
“They live in the ring box by my bed” I replied bluntly.
“Right, but why don’t you wear either of them?” She continued to question me from across the table.
“One, they aren’t exactly fancy, and two, I don’t like the memories attached to them.” I said beginning that familiar route down memory lane, but somehow stopping before getting emotional.
“Strange. I still wear my ring from my ex, but I just look at it and think ‘I got a nice ring!’” She said which somewhat surprised me.
Now, several hours later, whilst I am laid in bed with the TV off and nothing distracting me, my emotions have poured out along with the memories of getting those rings. I am sat looking at the box, remembering how Dale “proposed” to me.
I made him propose three times before I finally said that three letter word which would change my life. The first time he actually did get down on one knee, well, sort of! He was already sat on the floor after I had given him a shoulder massage and turned around to look up at me. “We ought to get married, I reckon you’d make a lovely little wife for me… Kelly, my wife for life” he had been drinking quite heavily that evening (I think he was up to his 12th can of larger at that point, I know he finished off an entire crate!) therefore my reply was short and sweet “ask me when you’re sober.” I seem to recall this proposal being just two months after we had met!
The second time, he did go down on one knee properly. I was sat in the lounge watching Eastenders (an English soap) after an exhausting 13 hour day at work and had just had to cook us both our evening meal. I was only there for a couple of hours as I was living a twenty minute drive from his flat at this point. Yet he still disturbed the crucial point of my programme and got down on his knee and looked at me with a nervous smirk on his face. “Will you marry me and be my wife for life?” I could tell from the smell of his breath that he had been drinking and he admitted to having a couple of cans to get the courage. “Nope, you shouldn’t need any dutch courage, ask me when you are completely sober!”
The third and final time he mentioned it in conversation one evening, just three and a half months after meeting me. “I really do think we make a great team. Shall we get married and we can make a proper go of it?” By this point I had moved the majority of my stuff into his any way, and he appeared to be such a nice caring guy, willing to do anything for me and to protect me. He also had a sweet son who had started to call me mummy and desperately wanted more children (that was a big plus for me!).
I smelt his breath for any trace of alcohol, seemed fine. “OK, I will marry you”. He gave me a cuddle and got out the Argos book (superstore which stocks everything from garden furniture to jewellery). He flicked through the ring section and said “which ones do you like?” The budget he gave me was £90 and no more than that! I know, classy guy. I should have known by that that we wouldn’t work! You see, I take after my mother and have expensive taste!
It was a couple of months later and we had a major row regarding the ring. My mum kept on at me (as did Jennie) about how I didn’t have a ring yet and he should be desperate to get a ring on my finger to show that I was taken. I had mentioned one of these conversations to Dale as we laid in bed late one night as it was starting to get to me that my mum didn’t trust my instinct (turned out she was right… bugger) and it was like Vesuvius erupting.
“Fine, I’ll get your bloody ring. I was going to do it to surprise you, take you somewhere like a busy restaurant and get down on one knee in front of everyone, but no, your mother has to butt in and take control. I’ll get your damn ring this weekend.” I was already upset, but that topped it. I sat there staring for a minute or two and then cried. He did his usual response to emotion and stormed off leaving me to it.
A month after the row, I came home from work after another tedious day visiting the Plymouth store. I had been on the road for nearly three hours and all I could think about was getting in and crashing out on the bed in Dale’s arms. The reality turned out somewhat different!
I cam in and collapsed on the sofa to see our little boy fast asleep on the other couch. I looked at him wondering how long he had been there and why his Dad was letting him stay in the lounge with heavy metal blaring out from the TV?! Dale looked over from the computer and said “He wanted to stay up to give you something” I hadn’t even noticed the large bunch of supermarket flowers on the mantle piece. It was very sweet of him though, I rarely get given flowers as most men know that I used to be a florist, so for some reason they don’t think that I want to receive them! Wrong - I love getting flowers, even a feeble effort from the supermarket/garage will do!
Dale then woke up Jonathon saying “Mummy’s home, are you going to go and give her the flowers?” The kid leapt up off the sofa (seriously, I would love to know how kids wake up like that!) and handed me the flowers with a beaming smile and big kiss. “This is for your birthday, but we thought we’d do it early!” Jonathon said still beaming up at me. He always insisted on giving presents early, I think that was because he expected to get his early too. He then ran off and came back with a squashy present which he thrust into my hands.
“I’ll open it on my actual birthday sweetheart, but thank you anyway” And I gave him a peck on the cheek and smiled over at Dale who then disappeared into the bedroom. I could hear him rummaging about and then he re-emerged carrying a small gift bag with a heart on the front. Very tasteful packaging I thought. He threw it at me saying “You’ll want this one now.” And quickly walked over to the window which he opened and hung out of to have a cigarette.
“Is this what I thin?” I asked, secretly hoping it was the ring and he would come over and propose properly now that he had the props.
“Open it and see.”
And yes, there it was a rather nice looking shiny white gold and diamond ring. Not exactly the usual engagement ring, but it would do I suppose! From the way that ring presentation to me went, I really should have known not to marry him. But hey, we can’t live life with regrets. If I hadn’t of done it, I would be sat here writing “What if…”
I’m going to put the box back in the drawer now I think. I haven’t felt this alone for a while and I almost miss the chaotic life on the council estate. Think Shameless (another English TV show)… Our block of flats, we were the Gallagher’s, Dale being Frank, the drugged up, pissed father. Most of all, I miss being a mummy. That’s enough self pity for now.
More happened tonight, but I am not going into that now.