Monte

The engagement is official. The rings have already been picked out, and the wedding is planned for New Years day of the year 2022.

It started as a joke. Rachel and I went shopping around the square in Denton and found ourselves inside of a jewelry store. It was Rachel’s idea. She whispered, “We should pretend where getting engaged and look at the wedding rings…” I was hesitant at first, but agreed to go along with it. It could be fun. So Ms. Alison Blakeley, one of the associates there at “First People’s Jewelers,” gave us a tour of the wedding bands.

“Oh, now that’s a nice one! Is that platinum or white gold? I don’t like yellow gold; a bit dated for me.”

“Now that’s nice, but do you have any men’s bands in titanium? It is one of the strongest metals in the world!”

“Now, Rachel, dear, are you sure you want the larger diamonds? Is that really within our price range?”

“Oh, yes, I do prefer the inset diamonds! That way the ring won’t get caught on something.”

“Rachel, did you remember to feed the dog?”

“Oh, yes, dear. And I took it to the groomers this morning!”

Rachel picked out a very nice, simple yet elegant engagement ring, and I picked out a 14k, white gold band with a matte finish. Very nice. Afterwards I joked to Rachel that we should start a pact: If both of us are still single by the age of 35, we should marry one another. But what started as a joke soon became official. Of course, the chances of us still being single at the age of 35 are slim; but I’ll admit, if this unfortunate future should become a reality and I’m still single at the age of 35, I might as well just face the fact that love ain’t gonna’ happen–and rather then shoot myself, I’ll just marry Rachel.

Rachel and I decided that we will have at least one child when we reach 40. We’ll go to some fertility hospital, I’ll whack off to some gay porno and cum in a little Dixie cup, and then I’ll give it to the doctor and he’ll inseminate one of Rachel’s eggs. Once the bun is in the oven, we’ll have ourselves a baby. Rachel and I theorized that if it’s a girl, she’ll have Rachel’s eyes, her hair, and her smooth skin. If it’s a boy, he’ll have my nose, my dark facial features, and he’ll be a hairy little monster–just like me. But we both agreed that no matter whether it’s a boy or girl, our child will definitely be blessed with having my lips.

Rachel once told me, “One day, Monte, one day when you grow into those lips of yours, you’re gonna’ be absolutely beautiful.” — I was laughing too hard to reach over and slap her.