I already know that I want to marry him. In fact, I’ve known this for months.

(Now, before you scowl down at these words and scoff, thinking to yourself that I am undoubtedly much too young to be making a decision that will follow me for the rest of my life, hear me out: I think that when you’ve finally met the person who is meant to hold you, you will know. Something in your heart will click and somehow, in some way that is utterly indescribable, you feel connected to them. If I could, I’d take the time to write it down and describe it in great, beautiful detail, but it’s impossible. You’ll just have to wait and see for yourself).
    

Little girls always fantasize about their perfect fairytale wedding, picking out dresses and bridesmaids and venues by the time that they’re ten. I was never like that. By the time all of my friends were fifteen, they knew exactly where they were going to be married, exactly how the ceremony would be, and exactly who the boy was. But now, years later, none of them even talk to the same boy anymore. I always thought that planning things out prematurely was extremely unnecessary and ultimately disappointing, but the one thing I really never understood was the matchless obsession girls had with the perfect ring.
    

Don’t get me wrong; rings are beautiful and they symbolize his dedication of love to you and only you. But women get their minds wrapped around this warped idea that the band that their future husband will slide onto her finger must be perfect. It has to be this specific cut, this many karats, with this exact design. And if the ring doesn’t live up to her standards, she is unhappy and will complain to her friends and possibly her fiancée, who might spend even more time, effort, and money picking out another ring that will make her smile.

It’s ridiculous.
    

For goodness sakes, the man wants to spend his entire life with you. He wants to live with you and share his thoughts with you and fall asleep beside you and wake up with you for an eternity, and all you care about is the ring on your finger?

As for me, though?

I’ve found him. I’ve found the man who I want to spend the rest of my life with. I want to live with him and share my thoughts with him and fall asleep beside him and wake up with him forever. He is the one. And I couldn’t care less about the ring he chooses to place on my finger.
    

He could spend a quarter on a ring that he gets in a machine next to one filled with gumballs and I would still melt into a puddle of happy tears. I don’t care about the diamond, or the amount of money he spent on it, or the number of jewels that line the side of the band. I just care about him.
    

I’ll spend forever with that twenty-five cent ring on my finger just as long as I have him right beside me.