The Perineum of Time

In that little perineum of time, the only thing anybody ever wants to know is how did you propose? Don't you want to know a name? I'm like, no. Who cares? Apparently you're supposed to propose on a beach or at sunset or some shit. And I don't understand where the romance is supposed to live in a proposal. It's never where it says it's going to be. Guaranteed six months after I've been to the beach, I will find a pearl on my person. Yeah, a little diamond in the muff. He gets it. Go big or go home alone. But who handles rejection the best? Men who think they're a