Editor’s note: A version of this story, performed by the author, won the L.A. Affairs Live storytelling event on April 3.

I am engaged. Which I didn’t think would ever happen.

In my 40s, I was in love with someone. We lived together and had been together for seven years. I thought that would be my last relationship. Then he broke up with me, and I was suddenly dumped at 46. I was terrified that would be my last relationship.

I don’t know if you’ve ever had the experience of being single in L.A. in your late 40s, but I don’t recommend it. None out of 10. All the thumbs down. It felt like missing the last helicopter out of ’Nam, as if I were running after couplehood as bombs went off around me and yelling, “Nnnnnooooooooooo!!” And I could add, “I know it’s not working out but don’t gggggooooooooo!!!” as I reached with all I had to not be left behind.

I felt I had to concede: “Well, die alone it is, then.”

I know a relationship isn’t the answer to everything. But I felt so abandoned. It was scary, and I fell apart. My fall was cushioned by lots of Dominos and DoorDash. But still, I fell, and it hurt.

Eventually, I put myself back together and tried again. I got on the apps. We all know the dating apps. That’s where you go on a website and make up a lot of lies to trick someone into loving you.

I had used them off and on for years and I always lied. Not even to misrepresent myself. I just didn’t know what to say. What did guys want to hear? What would catch their eye in a sexy little headline? I figured guys liked “Star Wars.” So for a long time, my sexy little headline was: “Han shot first.” I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but I have a cute, nerdy guy friend who says it. It seemed meaningful to him, so I gave it a shot. I might as well have written “Just love me!!!” I tried to cast a wide net.

But this time when I started dating, I decided to be honest and not out of any kind of virtue. Frankly, I felt too old and tired to find a game to play, and I recommend this for dating profiles. Before you sign up, give up. So, this time for my sexy little headline, I wrote: “Wordy, nerdy and kind of sturdy.” I put it all out there. Full disclosure. I will not walk on a beach with you, but I will play Scrabble. This is who I am. If I’m lying, I’m dying.

Not a lot of people responded, but one did.

We started messaging, had some calls and felt we might like each other. So we agreed to have dinner. It’s a seemingly simple thing to set up, but when I asked him where he wanted to eat, he was flummoxed. He said, “You pick the place. I don’t know where to go. I’m not good at plans. You make the plan. I can follow through with the plan, but I’m not a good planner!” Which is a weird red flag, right? I considered canceling. Then I considered the fact that my ex was great at making plans … to see other women while we were together.

I thought maybe it was time for a non-planner.

We decided to meet at the Smoke House in Burbank. Brian is a jazz trumpet player and a little bit old-timey. So I figured he’d love this place. Plus, those cheesy garlic breadsticks are heaven.

I got really dressed up for our date. Normally, I dress like a drunk art teacher, but I didn’t know how many more first dates I had in me. (I know I said don’t try too hard on the profile and I stand by that.) To meet IRL, I had to make it count. Dating can be exhausting. I’m not much of a dresser-upper. I had friends help me and I did the whole thing: cute boots, skirt, cleavage, hair curl, face paint. All of it.

When I got to the restaurant, he was waiting at the host stand. We saw each other for the first time. The moment of truth. No one looks exactly like their pic. It’s always a bit better or worse. We gazed across the lobby at each other and shared smiles that suggested, “Sure. Why not?” Which is all you need. You don’t need fireworks or an angelic choir singing at first glance. You just want that gate arm to go up.

What happened next changed my life.

We were shown to our table. Brian walked in front of me. A waiter, balancing a giant tray above his head, got between us. Then the waiter gets distracted. As I looked up, I saw the tray starting to tip toward me, and I thought, “Well, it’s not gonna fall. He’s a professional waiter. Nope! Here it comes!” The waiter’s tray fell, hit my chest, bounced off and crashed to the floor. Down came plates and cups and half-eaten shrimp scampi. Whoosh.

I stood there. Mortified. Everyone in the restaurant looked. Waiters rushed over asking if I was OK. I was stunned. I thought, “How did this happen? And why now and on my big date? And who doesn’t finish eating their shrimp scampi? There’s only four or five of them. And it’s delicious, and it costs $25.”

I mentally checked in with myself. I was a middle-aged lady on a date. That’s what we do. I thought, “Do you need a rain check or to reschedule? You were just attacked by appetizers.” I felt a little stunned, but nothing had gotten on me. I decided to stay and I made my way to the table where Brian was seated.

He looked across the table at me very sweetly, with kind eye contact, before asking, “Are you OK?” Just like on the dating profile, I wanted to be honest. I said, “Yes, that was very embarrassing and a weird shot of adrenaline. But yes, I’m OK.”

After a beat, he looked across the table at me. And very sweetly and with kind eye contact, he asked, “Can I laugh now?”

Frankly, in all my years of dating, I never knew exactly what I had been looking for, but I knew in that moment I had found it. My Prince Smartass. A year later, he proposed to me at the dinner table on a family vacation. And we’ve been together ever since.

The author is a comedian, TV writer, storytelling teacher and the winner of the first L.A. Affairs Live storytelling competition, where she performed a version of this story on stage. She, Brian and their Chihuahua named Mouse live in Lake Balboa. She’s on Instagram: @imlaurahouse.

L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.