Twelve years ago . . .

. . . I went out on a first date.

She was bright, beautiful, funny, fiery, and wonderful. We had met a few times, starting with a chance encounter in a mutual friend’s car, and had spent another chance-encounter evening hanging out together just a few weeks before. I was always very nervous around women, at least romantically, but I liked her enough to get up the courage to call her and ask her out.

She said yes. I was thrilled and terrified at the same time.

I went to pick her up and met/got grilled by several of her friends, who apparently decided I was acceptable and let me take her with me. We went to dinner (at the Mad Greek) and had a very nice time. Afterward I asked her if she would like to do anything else—I just didn’t want the evening to end. She said yes. We wound up going to see Pulp Fiction (at Liberty Hall). Then we went back to her apartment and had tea. Her cat came out and jumped into my lap, which surprised her—he didn’t like most guys. And I was definitely not a cat person at the time.

We had a wonderful evening. I asked her out again soon after.

Now we are married and have two children. And I’ve never regretted asking her out that first time.

Happy anniversary of our first date, my love.