Re-propose to me, Please. Because the last one was shit.

Really, it was. In case you were wondering, I met my fiancé on Myspace and a study showed that 1 out of 8 married couples met on Myspace. And I thought we were unique. It was the mother of all long-distance relationships and we had a relationship based solely on daily phone calls and messages in Myspace inbox for a good part of two and a half years. No video calls. Just phone calls, messages, texts and pictures. Very, very risky, I know.

So about a year or so ago, Jaz proposed to me while I was in Singapore on the phone and it goes something like this, 'No, wait. Listen for a minute. Do you want to marry me?' in the same tone that a woman would ask her child if the kid would like to go to the shops with her and grab some biscuits along the way. Of course, I was delighted that this man would like to make me his wife. Didn't stop me from thinking, and reminding him now that I am here in the flesh with him, that it was a shit wedding proposal either.

We just had our three year anniversary last Saturday. I accept that most men are garbage with dates anyway so I rogered that well into his head a week before said date. I just made passing remarks like 'It's next Saturday alright. Our three years. Don't you fuck off with your mates because I'll have the right hump if you do.' because I am a high-maintenance, demanding little shit like that.

So, last Saturday, after some phenomenal seeing-to, I told Jaz to re-proposed.

'Baby, say we have all the money in the world, how would you propose to me?'

'But I already have proposed to you!'

'It was shit. Say you have all the money in the world.'

By this point, he was quite close to Nap Time.

'But we don't, Baby. We are fucking skint.'

'IMAGINE we have all the money in the world. For fuck's sake. I am the most amazing woman out there and you have the most money in the world.'

He took his time. I went for a piss and had a fag.

'I would tell god to write Marry Me with stars.'

'You came up with that shit with the 15 minutes it took you? That? I thought you said there is no god. What the fuck are you going on about? And what has money got to do with that whole process? Are you saying you are paying this god person?'

'Oh for fuck's sake, Baby. Okay. Tsk. I will get the International Association Of Stars-Arranger People to arrange the bloody stars and I'll say 'Baby look at the skies' and you will see it. And what should you say after that?'

Like my answer was a definite yes. Like you would say to a child to say thank you after her nan gives her a sweet.

'Stars-Arranger People? Are you sure? Do we have that shit? I need to put this in my blog.'

'Yeah we have that shit. Bloody stars have to end up there somehow so there must be a society of stars-arranging type of people. So, I just fucking paid an insane amount of money to ask you to be my wife. What are you going to say?'

I then took my ring off and gave it back to him. To complete the whole process, you know.

'Are you down on one knee?'

'I am lying down on the fucking bed with you.'

'No! In this whole elaborate fantasy! Are you on one knee?'

Bless him, he truly was fucking buggered off his face at that moment and crying to be allowed to roll over and pass out.

'No. It will hurt my back anyway. So listen, will you be my wife?'

'Of course!'

Then he re-slipped the ring on my finger and kissed my forehead and sighed.

'So then, when we have done all this whole proposing, we'll go to Ali Baba's and have Indian, okay?'

'Ali Baba?' I asked. 'That pokey Indian restaurant up on Watford High Street? With all the money in the world?'

'But Ali Baba is the bollocks, Baby.'

'Let's go to the Taj Mahal!'

I do understand that it must be terribly draining for him to be in a relationship with me.

'Taj Mahal for a fucking dinner? Baby, it is a fucking long way for dinner, man. And I'm fucking starving.'

I pondered. He was right.

'Okay, we can go to Watford for dinner then. Can I get a Vindaloo and the lush Tandoori?'

'You can get whatever the fuck you want. I have all the money in the world.'

I'll remind him that when we have all the money in the world and he is moaning about forking out £800 on Louboutins.