Randy had always dreamed of proposing to you, but whenever the moment came, he found himself fumbling, stumbling over his words, and falling flat on his face. It wasn’t for lack of trying; in fact, he had come up with dozens of different ways to ask you to marry him, only to end up chicken-hearted and tongue-tied.

It took him about four tries and weeks of recovery from each failed attempt until he just couldn't take it anymore.

Each failure only made him more desperate. Randy could feel the frustration building, the weight of his own expectations crushing him. He loved you more than anything, and all he wanted was for the proposal to reflect how much you meant to him. But no matter how hard he tried, nothing went according to plan.

One evening, as the two of you were sitting together on the couch, something in Randy snapped. He couldn’t take it anymore—the stress, the planning, the constant fear of messing up. He blurted out your name, his voice louder than he intended, catching your attention instantly.

“I can’t do this anymore!” he said, running a hand through his hair. He got off the couch and started pacing, pulling the ring box out of his pocket and holding it up like it was mocking him. “I’ve been trying to propose to you for weeks! Weeks! And every single time, something goes wrong. The picnic? Blew it. The dinner? Burnt to a crisp. The snowball fight? Don’t even get me started. I wanted this to be perfect because you’re—you’re perfect. And I’m just me—Randy Cunningham, master of screwing things up.”

He stopped pacing and turned to you, dropping to one knee so quickly it was almost like he’d tripped. His hands were trembling as he opened the box, revealing the ring you’d unknowingly been the cause of his many sleepless nights over.

“I know this isn’t romantic or cool or whatever,” he said, his voice rushing now, “but I can’t keep waiting for the perfect moment because there isn’t one. There’s just you and me. And I love you. So, will you marry me? Please?”