How We Met
Kohlmann and I are high school sweethearts. We met during my sophomore year and his junior year at a mutual friends get together. The rest is history!
how they asked
It was perfectly imperfect.
One of the most frequently asked questions I encounter is “how did he ask?!” I can’t blame you ladies (and gentlemen), because I too am a sucker for a cutesy love story. After all, a sparkling rock is simply an invitation for “oooo-ing” and “ahhh-ing” over a fairy tale. Guilty as charged.
To preface, K and I traveled across the pond with his darling family to visit some family friends. While in England, we were welcomed with open arms by Christopher and Gail Robbins (yes, the Christopher Robbins ? ) into their bed and breakfast, Robinsbrook Country Guest House. If you’re ever in the area, you will not regret the opportunity of experiencing Chris’ witty humor (not to mention his impeccable cooking) and Gail’s charming personality alongside the jaw-dropping scenery of the Water District.
Mid-way through our getaway we made the 6-hour trek south to London where K and I parted ways from his family to take the Eurostar to Paris. We stayed at Hotel Sublim Eiffel, a very modern, eccentric, and quirky hotel that exuded vibes resembling Las Vegas. Late that evening, K hinted that we had reservations at 6 o’clock the next morning. Like a typical girl, I proceeded to set my alarm for 4 a.m. so I would have ample time to primp and pamper prior, and maybe get a glimpse of the sun rising over the Eiffel Tower.
Once my alarm began buzzing I took a little peek out the window to soak up the view. I was so shocked to see Parisians still roaming the streets from the previous night’s festivities—they are quite the partiers! Then, I proceeded to mosey into the shower… and the power went out. We had absolutely zero electricity. No fan, no hair dryer, not even a peep of light through the window. It was complete and utter darkness in the entirety of the hotel and as far as I could see down that lively street of France.
Thankful for iPhone flashlights is an understatement. From 4:30 a.m. to 6, I attempted to master the nearly ‘blind make-up challenge’ while I twirled my hair around my fingers, praying I could manage a decent frizz-free curl as my hair dried naturally. Around 6, our prayers were answered. The electricity snapped on as K and I were bolting out the door towards the Trocadéro to meet our photographer (surprise!!).
Without a doubt, the Trocadéro has remarkable views of the city, a well-known fact by many many photographers and tourists alike. I counted three brides and a gentleman with a tuba also modeling for the camera, as well as several Frenchmen selling itty-bitty Eiffel Tower key chains. The environment was berserk, but the view was attention-stealing.
Federico Guendel (who formerly lived in St. Louis also—small world, eh?) of I Heart Paris Photography was the romanticist master behind the lens and captured our magical moment. Per K’s secret scheming, Federico taking off his flannel shirt was ‘the cue’.
K knelt down onto a single knee and held out the most beautiful, breathtaking diamond. To be honest, I cannot recall a single word that came out of K’s mouth that morning (and neither can he!). It was the most memorable blur. Next thing I knew, I was spending forever with my best friend and love of my life.
To conclude, I must give props where they are endlessly due, K did quite the bout of research between stalking my overflowing ‘Soon-to-Be’ Pinterest board (yes, I’m that girl) to find the ideal ring and determining proposal must-haves. K was sure to ask permission from my Daddy, have the moment captured on camera, and be sure my nails were painted. Check, check, and check! After picking off my polish (filthy habit, I know) prior to arriving in Paris, K tirelessly attempted to make an appointment at a beauty salon in the tiny town of Cockermouth. When that failed, he invested in some polish so I could paint my nails at the train station. Swoon!