'I asked my boyfriend of five years to marry me on New Year's Day. He left me hanging.'

We found each other on the pathetically-named website, Plenty of Fish, and met up shortly after connecting online, in January 2014.

Our first date was at a Wetherspoons.

I chose the venue, because I honestly thought I’d be paying for my own drinks, and, as it was mid-January, I was already broke.

I will never forget that first date.

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We didn’t stop talking, and I loved how he got excited when he spoke about his favourite comedians, gesturing wildly and nearly knocking the drinks off our table.

Fast-forward a month, and he told me he loved me.

Still, hands down, the best moment of my life.

I started planning our wedding on Pinterest immediately.

Five years later, we have a cat, a mortgage, a car, and a lot of married friends.

You know where this is going.

It’s 2am on New Year’s Day, the first few hours of 2019.

My boyfriend and I are singing karaoke at home, after everyone else at our house party has gone home (we often sing karaoke together — we’re no good, but it’s fun).

I won’t lie to you, I’m slightly sloshed — we both are — but I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Five years, in fact.

We’ve just finished singing I Would Do Anything for Love by Meatloaf — one of our favourite duets.

Something clicks in my head: this is the perfect moment.

“Will you marry me?”

The words hang in the air, and his face is bemused.

“Aren’t I supposed to ask that question?” he replies.

I’m surprised; I wasn’t expecting him to be so traditional when we’re in an equal-partnership relationship.

“Do you not want to?” I ask, genuinely wanting to know the answer, but hoping I’m not pressuring him.

He quickly explains that of course, he wants to, but he wants the moment to be magical, and I know he’s a meticulous planner.

It’s one of the many things I love about him.

He also knows how I grew up watching Disney princesses and their happily-ever-after moments, and he knows that, secretly, I want one of those moments for myself.

I want to be swept off my feet.

I want to be surprised, and answer “Hell, yes” to his question.

Paraphrasing legendary feminist Deborah Frances-White, I’m a feminist, but I want to be proposed to by my boyfriend.

I’m glad he rejected my proposal — or rather, postponed our engagement (rejection sounds far too strong).

Knowing my sensitive tendency to cry at pretty much everything, I’m surprised that I haven’t shed a single sad tear at my proposal being ‘rejected’.

Maybe this is a case of ‘good things come to those who wait’.

I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.

This post originally appeared on Medium and has been republished with full permission.