A story follows and explains this visual gallery. Lee J’s first-hand, and perhaps slightly self-aggrandizing account follows. Jordan’s first-person commentary is italicized.

So. The proposal. This likely isn’t what you were expecting, and it’s likely not what Jordan was expecting, either.

It happened mostly spur of the moment, and not when she thought it would. I win (uh-huh).

We’ll start with some basic information. Jordan and I already were starting to plan wedding things. So this wasn’t entirely unexpected. Jordan and I also were not planning to do any rings until the wedding. (Or I wasn’t. Maybe that’s more accurate.) I also had scheduled a practice photo shoot because neither of us are particularly photogenic.

There’s the intro.

Two days before the shoot, I–knowing women often change their minds (and knowing I often don’t remember all the details)–asked Jordan if she were sure she didn’t need / want a ring before we were married. She hinted, “It would be nice to have something,” but left it at that.

Being the brilliant individual I am, I knew that meant she absolutely wanted a ring on her finger. It’s a good thing I speak Woman. He is actually quite fluent. Although I might only be fluent in Jordese.

So I did what any normal dude would do: searched the Internet at midnight to find what local people had in stock to purchase. I had a budget (a ring was not in it), and I was sticking to the budget.

You’re now asking yourself, “How could this go wrong?” And “Lee J, how are you actually engaged? / Jordan, who is this shmo?”

Well, let me tell you.

I found exactly what I was looking for in the first store I went to, realizing as I started to pay that I had no idea what Jordan’s ring size is.

(You’re replaying the above questions in your head. I forgive you.)

All I could do was guess. I figured with hands that fit as easily into mine as hers do, she must be somewhere between my left ring and pinkie fingers. Obviously a size 8. He has the ability to think and reason, as seen here, which is one of the many reasons I love him.

So that’s what I bought. Without ever surely knowing her finger size. Better yet: it was 60% off that day. I win again.

So, the photo shoot. Mind you, she had no idea what was coming. She agreed we lacked photogenics and was totally willing to practice. (Guys, take note, find a girl who’s adventurous and willing to try anything at least once.)

I conferred with the photographer ahead of time and told him I wanted to propose about halfway through the shoot, after we’d had time to warm up and become comfortable with the camera recording every erstwhile smile and missed hand placement (i.e. her hands → my butt).

So the plan was on. Jordan expected the proposal at a date we had later that night (I’d not told her what we were going to do for it, only that we were going to dress up), and the photographer and I alone knew the truth.

We were basically amazing on camera from the very beginning. Apparently being natural and not worrying about the photographer is easy when you’re not taking selfies.

So eventually, somewhere up American Fork canyon, we were “in the zone” and I decided it was time. All my 10 minutes of planning and 15 minutes of ring shopping was about to culminate in the most important moment of either of our lives. The most important moment to this point of course. There are many more important moments to come.

In a burst of blank-mindedness combined with sheer courage, I dropped to one knee, started to mumble some words, and was interrupted.

“Wait. Is this real?”

What a perfect thing to say, right? And I don’t remember saying it, so there is probably some room for debate whether or not I actually said that.

“Yes. It’s real. Can I finish now? Or start?”

I had the little shiny ring in my hands, and she started to giggle. I knew I had to get it out quickly or we’d have another interruption.

“Jordan, will you marry me?”

“Jordan Bybee, will you marry me?” He almost got it right. I’m nearly 100% certain I didn’t say her last name, because I realized I forgot to after I stated asking the question.

She stood dumbfounded for a moment, possible tears welling up in her eyes. Maybe she was just worried about them freezing, because her hands were at her face for a while. But I think she said, “Of course” at some point and that was that. I said, “Yes, of course” several times and “I love you” several more. I’m also fairly certain I never heard the word “yes.”

She’s probably going to insert something about me almost forgetting to put the ring on her finger. Not if you happen to mention it yourself. There were a lot of emotions involved so I can’t blame you for forgetting. I might have. You did. In my defense, she didn’t exactly give me her hand. There is photographic proof that my hands were planted firmly on your shoulds, how much closer would you like them? ;D Yes, firmly unmoving on my shoulders: not exactly giving me your hand.

So that’s it. If you like clean, cute stories, you can stop reading here. In fact, if you prefer clean, cute stories, I implore you to stop here.

For the rest of you, there might be some more details you’ll enjoy.

After that it was mostly a kiss-fest. Yep. The photographer held down his bile admirably while continuing to click the shutter. We got all lovey-dovey and had a grand ol’ time for another few minutes. We often have complete strangers tell us how cute we are together. (This is true, although I usually hear it second-hand from Jordan later. I guess women don’t tell male strangers things like this.)

Light drained quickly from the sky, and the photographer suggested we rush to the lake where additional romantic photos could be taken, and he could continue to practice not retching.

As we made our way down to the lakeside, I expected it to be snowy over a rocky shore. Then my right foot, in a loafer, suddenly sunk to the ankle in goo. I pulled it up and the ground slurped after what it had just held.

That was close. I’m going to have to walk more gently.

I’m not exactly a small man, lithe, perhaps, but not small. Actually, the photographer was the smallest among us, and a second after I extricated my foot, he was claimed by the goo also.

Shrieking and violently pulling himself away form the obviously predatorial goo, he declared we were going no further. Jordan got a little weird at this point. By weird he means I tried to gingerly pick my way through the soft ground (in the boots I borrowed from my sister) to find stable footing.

Two steps later she found herself up to her knee in it. And up to mid-calf on the other side. This was made doubly entertaining by the fact she was wearing her sister’s favorite knee-high heeled boots.

Gotta love that, right?

I alone was currently entirely above ground, but I had a newly minted fiancée who was about to get sucked into the same stuff my Oregon Trail wife once succumbed to. This was not going to happen! Not again! He’s so cute!

In an admirable show of bravery, I lumbered delicately over Jordan, careful to keep myself about the stank. She started grabbing onto me for some reason. Because you told me to. It made me wonder whether she thought I was actually going to leave her there. The thought didn’t cross my mind, until now. Obviously not. The rabbit tracks that littered that area of the snowfall looked particularly vicious. AF Canyon is the only recorded place in Utah where a person has been killed by a bear. But again this was not on my mind at the time. I was hoping I could extricate my legs and feet without losing my sister’s slip-on boots.

So I grabbed her by the thigh (also known as my armpits, I’m not sure how he got such a good grade in anatomy) and heaved upward (Thanks for that verb, Love). The first pull received gurgling applause from the goo, but failed to move her.

“You’re going to have to try,” I said. I was trying. But there is very little one can do when both legs are trapped in muck.

“Oh, sorry. 1, 2, 3.”

We grunted, groaned, then heaved again (this time with my hands definitely under her thigh). Her foot ended up above the snow, but the gook reached up to my left knee and pulled me down to join it.

Apparently it was sentient goo and would only accept sacrifices in trade for things it had legitimately lotted from their owners.

We pulled her other leg out in a similar fashion, this time acquiescing only my right foot to the ankle.

Her mid-calf for my ankle? The goo might be overcome!

We quickly tore the right foot out, and then we started on my left.

At some point, the photographer had gotten himself clear. I was on my butt, stuck in mud, (and covered in snow) Jordan was helping me now, and what was he doing? TAKING PICTURES!

TAKING #@%&! PICTURES!

–Exactly what we wanted him to do. Thanks Jon!

So we got it all on camera. All for your viewing pleasure.

As I said, it wasn’t a story for you who like clean, cute things. We ended with really muddy, really dirty boots and legs.

But we were engaged. And for two kids pushing 30, and ready to leave the Single’s Ward, who cares about anything else?

We didn’t.

We still don’t.

**Some embellishment may have occurred during the telling of this story but all the important parts are true.