The Proposal

Guess what, readers? I’m getting married!

Okay, not really. But I got your attention, didn’t I?

Seriously though, I apparently got proposed to. In the street. By some guy I’ve never met before.



It all started on a Thursday afternoon a few weeks ago. I was driving peacefully in Mohandiseen and smoking a cigarette when I noticed the guy in the car next to mine asking me to lower my passenger side window. Thinking he might be asking for directions, I lowered the window. The first words from his mouth were the words every girl would love to hear, apparently:

“Hi, if we keep talking like this all the other cars behind us are going to get pissed. So here’s my suggestion; if you pull over right now and we stop and talk and get to know each other and fall in love and you quit smoking then we could get married!”




I don’t recall being this stunned in my entire life.

As a result, nervous Mona emerged and I started laughing uncontrollably. This guy looked seriously decent, so it’s not like he was some creep hitting on a random girl in the street. But still, this was a first.

*Still laughing* “Look, um, that was…interesting, and a nice try, but I’m not into these kinds of things, so, thanks, but no thanks. Bye!”



As I started rolling up the window, he said, “Hey! I’m not offering you anything wrong or illegitimate, of course you’re not into these things, and I’m not asking you for these things! Come on, you’re driving a German car, of course you’re not into these things!”

I smiled at him and politely told him I wasn’t interested, rolled up my window and carried on.

But, alas, that was not the end. The fat lady had not yet sung.

He drove behind me until I reached my destination. We Egyptians are indeed a persistent people.

I had two options: 1. Try to use my awful driving skills to get rid of this guy and potentially crash my car or kill a civilian, or 2. stop and face the music.

I stopped and he pulled over next to me, again telling me that he just wanted to get to know me because I had a nice laugh and seemed like a nice person. I wanted to ask him how he managed to form such a strong opinion from just 30 seconds of talking to me, but instead I tried again and again to tell him to go away.

He reached over and handed me a piece of paper.

“What’s this?”

“It’s my phone number.”

Wow. This guy must think he’s starring in some sort of old American romantic comedy. Habeebi, this is Egypt; we don’t do this in Egypt. I am not Julia Roberts, and you are certainly not Richard Gere.

Or maybe he took Carly Ray Jepsen’s lyrics a little too seriously?



I started to protest until he blatantly said he wouldn’t leave me alone until I took the paper.

I took the paper -after all, I’d give him my car if it would shut him up.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Mona,” I said, not thinking for one second about the smart option of giving him a fake name like a normal person would.

“I’m guessing that’s not your real name.”

“Actually..actually it is.”

Bravo, Mona. He gave you an out to give yourself another name, ANY name would have sufficed. You could have said your name was Sara, Maha, Rana, Nahla, Safinaz or even fucking Mahinour. You could have said your name was Esmat BUT YOU JUST HAD TO GO WITH MONA. Dumbass.

“Oh, and my name is Ahmed..see how cute this is? Anyway, Mona, listen to me, I just want to get to know you. Please promise me you’ll consider calling me.”

After about 50 seconds of a cycle of “no” and “then I’ll never leave”, I told him I’d think about it. He looked at me with a dreamy look in his eyes and said “You have such a pretty laugh. And you’re so pretty. You know, if we do get married, I’m selling my car to get you your mahr.

So a guy I don’t know just offered to sell his car to marry me and none of the guys I actually liked wanted to commit. Fantastic.

I feel like a fucking princess.



He then drove off, leaving me stunned and wondering who the hell would ever believe this story. Maybe this guy found out I had writer’s block and decided to give me some good material.

Anyway, judging by the neatness of his handwriting and the fact that he had absolutely no time to write this whilst chasing me with his car, I’ve reached the conclusion that this guy has a bunch of papers with his number on them and he just drives around and proposes to women.



So, female readers, be careful. He’s not dangerous -as far as I know-but maybe you won’t repeat my mistake and maybe you’ll just do the wise thing and yell at him instead. Unless you find him charming -totally your call.

The moral of the story is that I got my first ever marriage proposal in the street, and that is something I never thought I’d say.