If Nate ever proposes to me again, I hope he does it at a food court.
And by food court, I mean the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.
And I hope Pat Monahan doesn’t mind rolling out of bed one more time and flying his voice and all of his bedheaded awesomeness back to his City by the Bay to provide the soundtrack.
And I hope Jimmy Stafford grabs his guitar and follows suit, even if he’s incapable of bedhead.
And I hope no one tries to substitute Howie Mandel for Jimmy at the last minute because I’ll be paying attention.
And I hope I don’t yell OH MY GOD, YES, PAT MONAHAN, I’LL MARRY YOU by mistake.
But mostly, I hope I’m this adorable when I say yes.
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