Tee hee hee, I have the LEAST romantic story.
I'd been with Max for four years.
I had been in my jamies all morning and hadn't yet brushed my teeth. My bangs were sticking up from my forehead from where I'd been yanking on them. The bio-father of my niece, whom we raise, was making threats (again). I was talking to lawyers, the courts, to insurance companies, child protective services, kinship care advocates/allies, was writing e-mails, responding to e-mails. I was a mess.
I went out our back door for a cigarette, and was crouched down under my fifteen winter layers, tears in my eyes. Spent.
Max walked out and simply said, "Let's just do it." I said, "What?" "I just filled out an application to get married. Let's just go to the courthouse and get married. To hell with everyone, there's not going to be a perfect time. So f*ck it. Let's get married."
I said, "Okay." And then I went into the house and made some more phone calls.
Three weeks later, in my mom's house, we did get married and it was beautiful.