My husband and I have been married for five years (today!) and things are still absolutely wonderful.
I'm not surprised, really. I had a feeling that things would work out this way after our first, yet unofficial, date.
I was sitting at home, bored one summer evening and he called me.
"Do you want to go out and do something?" He eventually asked. "Grab something to eat? Catch a movie?"
At this point, we were merely friends (as I had the tendency to constantly remind him), and I knew he had other intentions. I didn't want to encourage him by going out, one-on-one, but I was really hungry and there was nothing good to eat in the house ...
"I guess we could," I said, as nonchalantly as humanly possible.
"Really?" There was a pause, like he hadn't expected me to take him up on the offer. "Okay ... I'll pick you up in twenty minutes."
Twenty minutes was about the time it took for him to drive from his house to mine. I certainly didn't need any time to get ready or primp or anything ... We were going out as friends. Strictly friends. No big deal. No need to actually look nice or anything.
When he showed up at my house, I was on the front porch waiting for him. I walked over to his parents' car (he had his license, but no car of his own) and got in. "Where to?" I asked.
He had it all planned out. He was taking me to a casual little restaurant that his parents used to take him to. It was movie themed (right up his alley) and everything had a catchy, if not corny, name. It wasn't much of a "hot spot," that evening, so we were seated in a cushy little booth right away. There was a piano player providing music and everything ... The mood was light. As always, we were having a good time.
We ordered our food: a "Humphrey Bogart" for him and some chicken fingers for me.
Things were going well (the conversation, the company, the food ) until the piano started a rousing rendition of The Entertainer. If you know this piece of music, you know that it starts slowly and builds and builds, getting faster and faster and faster until it just cuts off and stops altogether.
I found it to be an interesting choice of dinner music and made the comment: "This makes me want to start shoving food in my mouth," as I quickly brought the chicken fingers up to my face, one after the other, pretending to scarf them down.
Finding this particularly amusing, he agreed and we laughed and laughed as the song continued to play. Not more than five minutes after it had ended, he excused himself and disappeared into the men's room ... He was feeling sick.
Apparently, the laughter and the "Humphrey Bogart" didn't mix.
As I waited for him in the bathroom, our server brought the bill and I started going through my purse to find my part of the dinner.
A good fifteen minutes or so later, and he returned, looking pale and miserable. He apologized, and dug into his wallet, too, so that we could get out of there. Well, wouldn't you know, he was short on cash! In his excitement to get out of the house for our "date," probably with minimal questions, he didn't grab money.
He looked over at me sheepishly. "I'm short by a couple dollars," he mumbled.
"No problem, I've got it," I replied, going into my purse again.
I swear, his face went a little more pale ...
To this day, we look back on that date and chuckle about the "bad Bogart" he must have ordered, the quickening pace of the music, and the fact that he owed me money when all was said and done. I'm pretty sure that's not quite the event he had in mind when he called me that summer evening.
"Some date," I'd say, bringing it all back. "It just about sums us up, doesn't it?"
He'd just smile that quirky smile of his and sigh.
So, here we are, over ten years from that first, unofficial date, five years into our life together as "husband and wife," and parents of a perfect little boy ... And we're still together.
Maybe it's time find a babysitter, head back to that restaurant (for old time's sake), and give the "Humphrey Bogart" another try.