Once I'd said "yes" we weren't sure what to do next. My head felt sort of light and airy and I kept thinking how strange I felt. Or maybe I didn't feel that strange. I felt like the same person and deciding to get married seemed so natural. Shouldn't I feel stranger? Shouldn't I be transformed?

   We waited until the following afternoon to start calling family and friends. Let the joyous squeals and well-wishing begin! Once we started we couldn't stop. Everyone on the A-list had to hear it from us or we risked offending life-long friends should they be the last to know. Afterward, I was desperate for sleep.

   It's amazing the speed at which that process of calling friends catapulted us from the state of "we've decided to spend our lives together" to the state of "we're having a wedding." Just two minutes into the average phone call to announce the big news that the well-intended person on the other end of the line asked the terribly unoriginal "when-and-where" question.

   "Aah, who knows?" I'd answer, giving the air in front of me a back-handed swing of forced nonchalance. "We'll figure it out." I could sense my own desperation creeping up on me. I had to hang on to this feeling of uncomplicated joy before it became clouded with plans and lists and binders full of menu choices and wedding dress ads.

   Meanwhile, I felt like every person on the street was staring at the third finger on my left hand. It sure was shiny, but was this diamond going to blind people on a sunny day? I started looking at every other woman's ring. Mine seemed better. I'd never owned a piece of jewelry worth more than $30. Did I suddenly have to start wearing nice clothes to complement this stunner? Walking around town in a T-shirt and old jeans no longer seemed appropriate.

   The ring was such a sweet surprise — but nothing compared to the promise of a future together. I still stare at it a lot and think about what it means. When I look at it, I just feel lucky.