I got engaged once. It’s rubbish.

Actually I got engaged twice. The first time doesn’t count though, because I only did it after the girl told me that she was pregnant and I simply re-gifted a ring that another girl had left at my house.

Didn’t even go through with that one. And good thing I didn’t. Had I done that I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to marry my soulmate.

The second engagement, the one that resulted in marrying my soulmate, well I can still remember that day like it was yesterday.

I woke up next to the girl I’d woken up next to every morning since our first date, and still felt the same way about her as I did that first night. This was the type of love where you don’t need to eat or sleep or see your friends or play your sports. Nothing else mattered. I’d learned to sustain myself purely on love.

I looked over at her, decided that this one was the one, kissed her on the forehead and left to go withdraw all of the money in my Money Market account. Then I went to the expensive part of the V&A Waterfront and, pushing an envelope with 10k in it across a glass counter, asked the woman wearing the Botox Death Mask what I could get for that.

I’d remembered that my girlfriend once pointed to an advertisement on the side of a Rikki’s Taxi and said that that was her favourite ring, so I started with the brand who had advertised this ring. Unfortunately the only thing they could get me was escorted out of their shop. This is what you get for embarrassing someone with a pitiful pile of paper-money. So I made my way to another jeweler at the end of the mall, next to a shop selling wooden giraffes and Madiba paintings and Land Rovers made out of Scooby-Doo wire.

After side-stepping a bucket with a mop inside of it, I spoke to a man who told me that he could get me what I was after. Their generic version simply swapped out platinum for white gold and replaced the usual carats with whatever a record player’s stylus uses. Even better, the person who sold me the ring said that he’d give me a valuation certificate for 15k so that when my fiancee went to go and have it valued – for insurance purposes, naturally – she wouldn’t think that I’m a pencil-neck peckerwood with the romantic inclination of an open-sore.

Anyway, I then organised the penthouse suite at Mandela Rhodes Hotel, booked a dinner for two at the overpriced flavour-of-the-month restaurant of the time and spent the rest of the day practicing what I was going to say.

After I asked my girlfriend to marry me there were phone calls and room service champagne and tears and some sex. Then we went to Evol because it was 2:00am Saturday morning and we weren’t married and boring, yet. I didn’t even have to pay for a single drink all night, which was nice considering that I’d just dropped 10k on a ring, five hundy on dinner and owed my PR connection a coupla hours copywriting for hooking me up with the penthouse at Mandela Rhodes Place.

Now it’s five years later and, lemmetellyou, she still hasn’t shut up about how shitty the ring that I bought her is. That and how she had to pay for her own wedding band – cue tiny violin muzak – and how I’m supposed to give her another ring for her giving me a son.

Now you don’t want to be paired with my wife during a game of 30 Seconds (What kind of a monster doesn’t know how to properly describe Noah?), however, her knowledge of diamonds would intimidate you, and my girl will tell you exactly how many months salary should go into an engagement ring and why a one carat IF is superior to a three carat VS stone.

Also, she thinks that my shit-for-brains brother pisses excellence just because he dropped 50k on an engagement ring. Which would be fine under normal circumstances, but because we’re neighbours and our birds work together and we see each other at the family gatherings that I sometimes get invited to, my wife is always reminded of the fact that he loves his wife exactly five times more than I love her.

Which really isn’t fair. I mean, it’s not like I did what my friend Matthew did.

Matthew had fallen in love with a girl from Sweden, and she loved him back, so they decided that it was time for him to meet her parents. While they were there Matt asked the old man if he could marry his daughter, and he said, “of course”, only in a much more Swedish accent. So Matt proposes and she says YES and everyone is as happy as can be. That is until the next day when they all go to town together. Rings don’t always fit you see, and this one that Matt had swapped a KFC Streetwise Two meal for needed to be resized. Now Matt doesn’t know what’s going on because everyone inside the jewelry store is speaking Swedish, but he’s a smart dude and can see that things aren’t going so well. The mom is shouting and the old man is arguing with the jeweler and the girl who he’d planned on spending the rest of his life with, she can’t even look at him. She’s just holding her face and sobbing.

Turns out that there wasn’t enough gold in the ring to resize it.

Matt is still not married.

Anyway, watch this video, then get your girlfriend to watch it.

I reckon that if you can convince a girl to marry you using nothing more than an apple then that’s a girl worth marrying.