I rush around my tiny apartment, grabbing keys, phone, purse, saying goodbye to various pets. Then I run out of the house and down the street to catch the bus. I take the bus everyday to the metro link station where I then catch a super fast train into Washington DC from the suburb in Baltimore, Maryland where I reside outside of work in a tiny yet cozy little apartment. I work at a forensic lab for the FBI, and have been for about two years now. I love the work, and the people I work with. But sometimes I hate the stress of not having my own car and relying totally on complete strangers to get me to work and other places on time. However, it’s usually not that stressful. Usually I have plenty of time to read a book, catch up on paperwork, or talk to my friends and family. But today, Monday, the batteries in my alarm clock decided to die, allowing me to sleep in. Of course. That’s the last time I only set one alarm. I barely make it onto the bus in time. But after that I calm down a little. The bus will get me to the station on time, I tell myself to relax. After a few minutes, the bus pulls up to the station and I rush in to get on the train. I need to get a seat; otherwise the 30 minute ride is boring and miserable. I run into the train, trying not to trip on the sea of shoes and luggage all around me. Of course, there are no seats left. Looks like this Monday is going to be just perfect. I resignedly stand in the aisle by a pole to steady myself with when the train takes off at rocket speed. The train waits for another minute for any straggling passengers, and then the doors slide shut with a hiss. I briefly lose my balance as the train accelerates. And so does the woman standing behind me. Who just happens to be holding a venti nonfat caramel macchiato with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Which then ends up all over my back and hair. Perfect.
“I’m so sorry!” she apologizes.

“It’s… fine…” I reply, even though it isn’t. This is just what I need. People around us scrounge their purses and briefcases, looking for spare napkins to help clean me up. But I know it’s no use. My clothes and hair will be sticky and caramel-y all day unless I go home to change and shower, which I don’t have time for. So I just clean myself up as best I can and steel myself for the sympathetic looks and comments I’ll get once I get off the train. The rest of the ride, I try to ignore everyone’s attempts to cheer me up by offering me more napkins. I accept them and pretend to be fine about my predicament, but inside I’m just wising they’d all leave me alone and act like it never happened. When we finally get to the DC Central Station, I hurry outside to catch a cab. Usually I’d walk from here because I enjoy the city so much, but today there’s no way I’m walking, covered in macchiato as I am. A cab’s expensive, but it’s a cost I’m willing to pay today. Besides, the way this day’s going, I’d probably get hit by a car crossing the street. I hail a cab, get in and tell the driver where to take me. On the way there, I text my boyfriend of a year and a half, who also works at the lab. That’s how we met, actually.
“Having the worst day EVER. Running late. Luv u.”

“Awww I’m sorry. I’ll cover for you. Luv u! <3”
I finally get to the lab. I pay the cab, then run up to the electronic door and swipe my ID. The door opens with a buzz. I run to my locker to drop off my purse and put on my white lab coat. At least it’ll cover the macchiato stain down my back, but I can still feel my shirt sticking to me with caramel and whipped cream. I put my hair up in a really messy ponytail to try and disguise the fact that it’s crunchy with stickiness. Then I run down the hallway to the lab I share with my boyfriend. He smiles at me as I open the door with my ID card and sigh.

“Hey! So what happened?” he inquires.
I tell him the whole sob story of my miserable morning. He’s sympathetic, but not overly so, and it calms me down a bit. He helps me wash my hair out a bit in the lab’s sink, which makes it a little less sticky and crunchy. When I turn around after towel drying my hair, my boyfriend is looking a little lost for some strange reason. I’m puzzled.

“You ok?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s just… I don’t know how to go about this, but it seems like the right time,” he answers. This only adds to my confusion. What’s he talking about? Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box, takes my still wet hand, and kneels. It hits me. I know exactly what he’s going to say next.

“Will you marry me?”
I’m so ecstatic, and I can hardly speak. But I manage to squeak out a little “yes” with my choked throat and watery eyes. I stoop down to him and hug him so hard that he loses his balance and we both fall against the cabinet, laughing and crying and now both smelling like venti nonfat caramel macchiato with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. So I guess this Monday isn’t the worst day of my life. It’s the best Monday I’ve ever had.