I spent years loving a man, believing we’d be together forever, only to find myself humiliated by him on the very night I thought he’d propose. What started as a romantic anniversary dinner quickly became the most embarrassing moment of my life—until I flipped the script.
Yesterday marked our third anniversary. I’d spent the entire week convinced it was the night my boyfriend would finally pop the question. His actions only fueled my suspicions, especially when he made reservations at a fancy restaurant. But when his real intentions were revealed, I knew I had to respond in kind.
Let me backtrack for a moment. My boyfriend, Ryan, is 29—just like me. We don’t live together yet, but we’ve had more serious discussions about it this year, even talking about the possibility of getting a dog once we do.
For our anniversary, Ryan had booked a reservation at a charming, upscale restaurant downtown. It was far nicer than the casual spots we usually went to—the kind of place with flickering candles and meticulously folded napkins.
He told me to dress up and promised a “special surprise.” I hadn’t said anything about a proposal—I didn’t have to. I just knew.
So, I got my nails done, curled my hair, and put on my favorite emerald-green dress—the one he once said made me look like I’d stepped out of a movie. I was excited, my heart light, and though work had been brutal that week, I didn’t let it bring me down.
To be honest, I really needed this night. I had been passed over for a promotion that I’d worked tirelessly for over the past year. I stayed late, managed difficult projects, and mentored the guy who got the position instead of me. Matt, fresh out of grad school, was given the job, and I was left with nothing—except whispers in the office about how I’d probably be getting married and having a baby soon.
Apparently, being a 29-year-old woman in a corporate setting makes you a liability. No one said it outright, but I overheard it by the vending machine: “Upper management doesn’t like to invest in someone who might disappear for a year.” I smiled and acted like it didn’t bother me, but I cried in my car afterward. I told Ryan everything when I got home, and I thought he understood and truly sympathized.
So, this night—I needed something to feel good about. I tried to temper my expectations by telling myself Ryan might not propose, but I couldn’t help but picture him pulling out a ring and saying something cheesy, like, “I didn’t need a promotion to know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
But that’s not at all what happened.
Dinner started out great. Ryan complimented my dress, telling me I looked “elegant but dangerous too,” which made me laugh. We ordered wine, shared appetizers, but he seemed a little off—checking his phone, barely eating, tapping his fingers nervously on the table.
So, when dessert arrived, I sat up straight, ready for something special. Instead, the server placed a white plate between us with a single slice of chocolate cake and pink icing that read, “Congrats on Your Promotion!”
I blinked. The smile froze on my face.
“What is this?” I asked, confused.
Ryan’s face lit up like he had just pulled off a magic trick. “Surprise! I thought it’d be cute to manifest it happening.”
The server chimed in. “Wow, big deal, huh? What position did you get?”
I awkwardly laughed. “Oh, uh. It’s… not official yet.”
Ryan waved it off. “She’s being modest. It’s just a little early celebration.”
The server nodded and walked away.
I stared at the cake, heart pounding. “Why would you do this? You know I didn’t get it!”
“I know,” he said, still smiling. “That’s why I thought it’d lighten the mood. You’ve been so tense lately. I figured this would help shift the energy. Positive vibes, babe.”
I pushed the plate away. “You made everyone think I got something I didn’t. That’s humiliating.”
He leaned back, frowning. “Oh, come on. You’re taking this way too seriously. I was just trying to be nice.”
“Nice?” My voice was shaky. “I didn’t get that promotion because people think I’m just going to get married and have kids soon. I told you that! And you made a joke about it in front of strangers. It wasn’t about positive vibes. You wanted a laugh at my expense!”
He scoffed. “I mean, it’s not like you were actually close to getting it. I thought this would be the only way you’d hear ‘congrats.’ If you were really getting promoted, maybe I wouldn’t have had to fake it!”
I sat back, stunned. “You didn’t do this to support me. You did it to make me the punchline!”
He looked away, muttering, “Whatever. You’re just being dramatic.”
I grabbed my credit card. “I’ll pay for myself. You can go.”
“What? Are you serious?” he asked, but I was already handing the server my card. Ryan grumbled about me “ruining the vibe” and stomped out after paying his share.
I stayed, ordered a second glass of wine, and sat there until I felt my heartbeat slow. The waiter checked in on me, and I assured him I was fine before eventually leaving when I felt steadier.
Three days went by with Ryan texting me, but I ignored him. My friends were split on it—half thought he was harmless, but the other half agreed it was messed up. One of my best friends, Hannah, texted, “Girl… you need a revenge party.”
So, I planned one.
Ryan loved throwing mini birthday parties for himself, with things like “Ryan Day” or “Ryan Appreciation Week.” He was also obsessed with his hair—always checking, spraying, worrying about his thinning crown.
I decided to host a “celebration” at my place. I texted Ryan: “I’ve been thinking. Maybe I was too sensitive. Can you come over? I have a surprise for you.”
Naturally, he showed up all smug in a tight button-down with a cocky half-smile. “You realize you overreacted, right?” he said as he stepped through the door.
“I have something to show you,” I replied.
When he walked into the apartment, he froze.
The living room was decked out with black and gold balloons, and a giant banner reading, “Congrats on Becoming Bald!” A cake, nearly identical to the one at the restaurant, sat on the table: “Manifesting It Early!”
His friends were there, and so were mine. Most of them laughed.
Ryan’s jaw dropped. “What the hell is this?!”
I smiled. “I’m just trying to shift the energy. Good vibes, right?”
One of his friends, Derek, choked on his beer. Another guy, Trevor, whispered, “Dude, that’s brutal,” but couldn’t help but laugh.
Ryan’s face turned red. “You think this is funny?!”
“Didn’t you?” I asked. “You thought pretending I got a promotion I worked hard for was funny. I just flipped it.”
“This is petty. It’s not the same.”
“No,” I said, still smiling. “You’re right. Mine’s a joke. Yours was cruel.”
Ryan looked around, waiting for his friends to back him up.
“Man, you kind of set yourself up,” Derek said. “You faked her promotion. That’s cold.”
Trevor muttered, “I told you that cake idea was weird.”
Some of his other friends didn’t laugh. One of them, Jenna, shook her head. “You two clearly have issues. This is all immature.”
“You don’t have to stay,” I told her.
Ryan stormed toward the door. “We’re done. It’s over,” he snapped.
“Okay,” I said, sipping my drink.
He slammed the door behind him.
As his friends began leaving, some of mine followed suit.
Then, something unexpected happened. One of his friends, Zach, lingered.
“You know,” he said, standing near the cake box, “he always joked you didn’t have a sense of humor. But that was honestly one of the best comebacks I’ve ever seen.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not mad I made your friend a punchline?”
Zach shrugged. “Ryan’s been kind of a jerk lately. And, for the record, I always thought you deserved better.”
I looked at him, surprised.
He grinned. “I mean, if you’re not busy this weekend…”
I smiled back. “Are you asking me out?”
“Depends. You gonna throw a party if I go bald?”
“Only if you deserve it,” I said.
We both laughed. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had the last word.