Come celebrate with us

7:03 p.m. KGB Bar on E 4th St The young lady walked into the Soviet era-themed ("Communist chic") bar in a short, black Opening Ceremony dress she'd thrifted especially for the occasion. Not sixty seconds after she sat down we were rudely interrupted by slam poets back from intermission. We left immediately. We introduced ourselves on the short walk to the secondary location I'd mercifully lined up in advance. 7:16 p.m. Amor y Amargo on Ave A I ordered a Manhattan and she did the same. Delicious on account of the house-made bitters. We drank slowly and shared a Boulevardier afterward. Since the Plan B had become the Plan A, I improvised a Plan C on my feet. 8:58 p.m. McSorley's Old Ale House on E 7th St We had two each of the house's Light and Dark ales. We stood together at the old bar all the while and shared a beautiful kiss. 10:44 p.m. Shades of Green on E 15th St The young lady wanted to take me to a place she knew. It was an Irish pub near her dormitory. She bought me a Guinness and we talked into the fading evening. 11:32 p.m. Leaving the bar we were waylaid by a guerilla film crew. They were filming man-on-the-street promos for an MTV show called Ridiculousness. It took little encouragement from the crew to get us to kiss on camera. 11:41 p.m. We found a small brick alcove and read our release forms. I flaunted my legal acumen by explaining the definition of "indemnify". 12:13 p.m. We slowly took the short walk west and I dropped the young lady off at her dormitory. 1:10 a.m. Clearly not having had enough of me, the young lady texted: "I'm safely in my bed. Also, this is Regan." "Who?" "You wound me." We never saw each other again.

I took Regan to a Met production of Così fan tutte, in which a couple of respectable gentlemen disguise themselves as shifty Albanians to test the fidelity of their fickle fiancées. (This is in perfect contrast to the story of our actual courtship, in which a shifty Albanian disguised himself as a respectable gentlemen in order to win the heart of a faithful and constant Irish princess). The show may have been good. I don't know. I couldn't pay attention because I was a bundle of nerves. After the show, I escorted her from the house and popped the question in front of the fountain at Lincoln Center. I fought every urge not to quote Moonstruck on a night she'd one day tell our children about. I instead saved that energy for the many times we've been to the opera since.