Allow me to introduce myself: I am Mr. 300 Sandwiches, the man behind the woman who started a blog wherein she makes — you guessed it — 300 sandwiches for me with the promise of an engagement ring at the end.

No problem, right? There’s nothing wrong with two people doing nice things for each other.

The blog, 300sandwiches, went viral when my girlfriend Stephanie, a reporter for Page Six, wrote an article about it in The Post back in September. Suddenly, everyone and their brother was weighing in, and there was fallout.

I was dubbed “the Internet’s worst boyfriend” (which is kind of growing on me) and called a “sandwich whore” (guilty as charged).

As always, there’s more to the story than meets the eye.

I tend to cook most of the meals in our household, demanding nothing of Stephanie except good conversation at the end of the day. I’ll stand at the cutting board while she sits on a bar stool in our apartment, both of us with wine glasses in hand, laughing as she talks about which socialite has gotten angry at Page Six, or which insect most accurately describes a certain PR rep.

Every couple has inside jokes, and ours consisted of three measures of 1950s traditional gender roles; one measure of “Borat”; half a measure of saccharine, shaken vigorously, served in a highball with a Krazy Straw — because, why not?

“Baby, how about you make me a sandwich tonight?” I’d say.

She would normally roll her eyes and laugh as I went on making the meal.

One day she responded to my joke with one herself: She made me that sandwich. Thus began a chain reaction of one-upmanship to an eventual climax where I uttered those fateful words: “Baby, you’re just 300 sandwiches away from an engagement ring!”

TKO: Perfect absurdity, right in the kisser. I win. (Or did she?)

And just like that, we created a project that would offend some, inspire others and delight far more.

Now, a year and a half in, and with less than 100 sandwiches to go, not a day passes without yet another fresh reminder from friends, family, or random people in the queue at Citarella that we creep closer to the finish line, that I’d better be ready, and that now there’s a crowd watching. (“Yes, I’m aware. Thank you.”)

Few things are more nerve-rattling for a young man than preparing to propose, but having been grilled regarding when I’d pop the question by Matt Lauer on “Today” brings this fear to a whole new level.

I already know that in the eyes of the public, the stone will never be flawless enough, the ring never shiny enough and the proposal never perfect enough to satisfy the impeccable taste and boundless prowess of Internet commenters.

And after 300 tasty, lovingly made and beautifully documented sandwiches — a herculean yet unnecessary gesture — how could I possibly measure up? How could my proposal be thoughtful, original, memorable and beautiful enough to equal or surpass the scale of effort she’s given me?

(Stephanie, stop reading here.)

My original ideas — sunrise over Haleakala, fireflies trained to spell out “Marry Me” like in “The Nutty Professor II,” full page ad in The Post — now seemed comparatively quaint. Oh, the pressure!

Facing such lofty expectations, The Internet’s Worst Boyfriend® is determined to succeed and impress no matter what, despite a few recent setbacks: my original plan to propose 68 miles above the Earth aboard a Virgin Galactic flight was dashed after the first flights got delayed and I ended up a few hundred grand short of the fare. My backup plan — orchestra, ballpark, cameras rolling — was recently stolen outright by Kanye West. What’s the plan now? Specifically, how do I out-Kanye Kanye here? Someone has to one-up that guy, so let it be done by an average joe like me, who, for what it’s worth, is rather patient about his damn croissants.

A 300 dancer Bollywood proposal spectacular?

300 John Cusacks with boomboxes overhead?

A 300-member flashmob gospel choir?

A combination of the three? I’m stumped. So I hereby request the creative genius of the all-knowing and infinitely wise Internet: Tweet me your ideas at @mr300sandwiches and help contribute to the greatest proposal extravaganza ever. After 300 sandwiches, only something that even Yeezy hasn’t done will suffice.