“If you love me, prove it.” We have no idea how many times that phrase has been uttered, but what we do know is that people take the challenge seriously.
Sure, we’ve all done outrageous things for the ones we can’t be without, but some people REALLY make an effort — and even go as far as to donate a kidney. (A kidney!) Ahead, hear from seven people on Quora who have done some crazy stupid things (not by force, mind you) in the name of Cupid — and have the stories to back it up.
The Gutsy Proposal
I proposed to a girl who I knew was already engaged in front of her fiancé […] It was the summer of 2010, I was at the University of Houston working as an intern, and she was doing her masters at a different lab in the same university. I would go to her with fake doubts about my computer programs and she would help me solve them. I was having the time of my life. But a few days into the internship, I came to know that she was engaged to marry a guy from the same [expletive deleted] lab. Fast forward to the last day of my internship and I just had to tell her how I felt. I wrote a two-page love letter, bought a card and some flowers (yes, some people would say that was corny, but I was in louvvv). And then I waited for like an hour for her fiancé to leave the lab. As soon as he went, I walked up to her, and that was the moment that the fiancé chose to return. She had already acknowledged my arrival; I could not turn back. Now, I believe that everyone would be peeing in their pants in this situation. However, feeling a great sense of exhilaration, I told her. Everything. For like 15 minutes. To her credit, she listened to me patiently and told me that it was really sweet of me to tell her this and that she was flattered but that she was already engaged. Hell, even the fiancé left us alone for a while. Till date, I respect her for her wonderful response.
The Fairytale Ending
I “stole” my parents’ rental car and drove 13 hours from L.A. to Albuquerque stopping only for gas in order to see my love. Certain conditions in my life at that point were keeping us away from each other. I left without word at 6 a.m., after emailing a lengthy note to my boss that I wouldn’t be coming into work that week because I just had to leave and see the love of my life. We had been forced apart by the aforementioned conditions for two months and it was killing us. Around 8 a.m., the “where the hell are you!” texts and calls came rolling in, but I turned off my phone. In the aftermath of all this, my parents had to make up a ridiculous and lengthy fake trip to the rental car company to explain the miles, as one of the conditions upon the rental was that it was to be used only in-state. So what happened to us? I ended up marrying her. Love can make us crazy [and] do ridiculous things, but I regret none of it.
During our freshman year at different colleges, my high school girlfriend and I decided to spend the summer in Russia. Or rather, she decided that she wanted to, and I, hopelessly in love with her and eager to see her over the summer, decided to start taking Russian as an excuse to join her.
But she dumped me in March. I had already sort-of committed to the summer, but not really. Yet in my infinite wisdom, I thought myself left with only one choice — follow her to Russia to win her back.
The eight weeks I spent in St. Petersburg were, as one might imagine, terrible. I had no friends and didn’t speak the language. I lived in a home-stay with an 80-year-old Russian woman. Oh, and I watched as she (my ex, not the 80-year-old) fell in love with a Russkie, who, in my pathetic attempt to be near her, I sort of became friends with.
When I got to the airport to come back to America, dejected and stupid as I’d ever been, I didn’t see my flight on the departures list. I asked around in broken Russian, and found out that there are actually two separate terminals of the St. Petersburg airport, and I was at the wrong one. Needing to get to my flight ASAP, and discombobulated as hell, I accepted a cab driver’s offer to get me there for around $100, most of the money I had left.
When I got to the right terminal, the customs officer told me that there was a problem with my visa. I couldn’t leave until I got it taken care of, and the next flight wasn’t for 3 days. It was back to the nasty 80-year-old woman. Except when I got there, she was gone, and the door was locked. When I called her, she told me that she had gone to her dacha (Russian country home), and wouldn’t be back for a month.
So at this point, I have no money, no girl, and no place to sleep. I got my visa taken care of, but still had to lug most of my stuff (except for what I’d left at the airport) around for three days. The only person I could call was … my ex’s new boyfriend.
But, pathetic as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
So my last three nights in Russia were spent on a cold beach, in a train station, and in a 24-hour bookstore. I almost got a full night’s sleep in the bookstore, but was awoken by a terrifying man yelling at me in Russian. When I clearly didn’t understand him, he said, in a not-too-accented English, “Get out.”
So I arrived in America dirty, dumb, and loveless. Five years later, I’m just about over her.
The Study Abroad Trip Gone Very Wrong
During our freshman year at different colleges, my high school girlfriend and I decided to spend the summer in Russia. Or rather, she decided that she wanted to, and I, hopelessly in love with her and eager to see her over the summer, decided to start taking Russian as an excuse to join her.
But she dumped me in March. I had already sort-of committed to the summer, but not really. Yet in my infinite wisdom, I thought myself left with only one choice — follow her to Russia to win her back.
The eight weeks I spent in St. Petersburg were, as one might imagine, terrible. I had no friends and didn’t speak the language. I lived in a home-stay with an 80-year-old Russian woman. Oh, and I watched as she (my ex, not the 80-year-old) fell in love with a Russkie, who, in my pathetic attempt to be near her, I sort of became friends with.
When I got to the airport to come back to America, dejected and stupid as I’d ever been, I didn’t see my flight on the departures list. I asked around in broken Russian, and found out that there are actually two separate terminals of the St. Petersburg airport, and I was at the wrong one. Needing to get to my flight ASAP, and discombobulated as hell, I accepted a cab driver’s offer to get me there for around $100, most of the money I had left.
When I got to the right terminal, the customs officer told me that there was a problem with my visa. I couldn’t leave until I got it taken care of, and the next flight wasn’t for 3 days. It was back to the nasty 80-year-old woman. Except when I got there, she was gone, and the door was locked. When I called her, she told me that she had gone to her dacha (Russian country home), and wouldn’t be back for a month.
So at this point, I have no money, no girl, and no place to sleep. I got my visa taken care of, but still had to lug most of my stuff (except for what I’d left at the airport) around for three days. The only person I could call was … my ex’s new boyfriend.
But, pathetic as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
So my last three nights in Russia were spent on a cold beach, in a train station, and in a 24-hour bookstore. I almost got a full night’s sleep in the bookstore, but was awoken by a terrifying man yelling at me in Russian. When I clearly didn’t understand him, he said, in a not-too-accented English, “Get out.”
So I arrived in America dirty, dumb, and loveless. Five years later, I’m just about over her.
Source: Magazine.foxnews.com