Proposal nerves? I have a tip about when to pop the question.

This is One Thing, a column with tips on how to live. Do not wait for dessert, do not wait for a twilight walk on the beach, and please do not spend the entirety of an Italian vacation waiting for a furtive “right moment” which will surely never materialize. Get down on one knee and pop the damn question, so you can both spend the rest of the night ensconced in dizzy joy, with all the pressure drained away. I outlined the rest of the plan for the night, which involved a reservation at a neighborhood bistro and a rapturous party with all of our friends, all unburdened by the specter of expectation—the idea that all of this pomp and circumstance was building toward something we both knew was coming. A proposal at the summit of Mount Everest, or, I don’t know, amidst the embers of a weeklong Ayahuasca retreat certainly has a sense of occasion and makes for a better anecdote than “he asked me to marry him … in our living room.” But if you are a tad more modest in your standards, I implore you to take my advice.