My engagement to my fiancé happened almost two years ago, and it was conducted in a less than perfect way.
We had travelled to Fiji for a holiday, and I had picked out a ring a few weeks' previously, which I well assumed he had on him.
A couple of days in to the trip, I got gastro. I spent the next two days alternatively vomiting, having diarrhoea and guzzling as much Fiji water as was available. My poor then-boyfriend wanted to get out and about and do things, but I could barely lift my head to chew on a dry cracker which went down like broken glass.
Suddenly I began to feel better. And then he crashed. Two more days, a couple of doctor's visits, some anti-nausea shots in the bum and we were finally over the worst.
We were so exhausted by our ordeal that we spent the last few days of our holiday laying by the beach, with no energy to do anything. On our second-last day, as we were soaking up the rays, my boyfriend turned towards me, opened a ring box and half-heartedly croaked 'Babe, will you marry me?'.
I said yes. The occasion of our engagement wasn't perfect, but it didn't need to be. The last two years of being engaged and in love has more than made up for it.
Forget the princess 'Cinderella' moment. I'll take my gastro story any day of the week!