A Sour Grape

Ethan 

"You're doing excellent Ethan!" Michele encouraged me for the one hundredth time as I held Demyan's hand in mine as I knelt down onto the beach's sandy shores. 

I had been kneeling down for the past five minutes, wearing chinos, a white dress shirt and veldskoene as we created our proposal scene. Realistically I would have never worn veldskoene to the beach because the material of them just attracted the sand as if they were magnets. I would have also never worn chinos because they just attracted dirt and I had to try my best to not look cold as if we were in sunny New Zealand. 

If he made me kneel down for a second longer I was going to lose my mind and by the way he quickly wrapped up the photoshoot soon after, I knew everyone knew I was a hair's width close to losing it. 

"I'm so proud of you," Demyan grinned like a Cheshire cat and gave me a kiss, "You're a model Ethan!"

I frowned, "Please don't make this into a habit."