I can hear her heels clicking on the cement, coming
faster and faster, louder and louder. She was
working her way up three levels of the circular
parking lot—she’s skipped the elevators altogether
and is running in the middle of the road trying to run
me down before I make it to my car or to stop me if I
start to drive away. Just as I am about to duck into
the backseat, she catches me: “Steve Harvey! Steve
Harvey! I… got… the… ring,” she says, waving her
left hand in my face while trying to catch her breath
from the impromptu workout. She swallows hard,

takes another breath, and then starts in again. “You
said to make marriage a requirement and tell him if
he wanted to continue our relationship he needed to
give me a ring. I did what you said to do and I got it,
Steve Harvey. I got my ring!”