You’ve read about how I met my husband in Some Enchanted Evening. I invite you to share the inevitable next step of our courtship.
How about a little fun? How about a story about a first kiss, that led to a second kiss, that led to years and years of kisses.
This is where Alan kissed me the first time, in my kitchen, with his body pressing mine into the edge of the counter.
A midsummer’s eve, with us racing up the back stairs to my apartment so I could grab something and we could rush out the front door to his car and the next place we had to be, the next party of friends who were waiting for us.
His problem? He allows one false premise guide him during our courtship; that he needs to impress me. Who wants to be impressed? Not me.
Why did he tell me that he got a perfect score on his SATs? At our age, who cares? Who even remembers their score? Maybe if mine had been perfect I’d remember. But still, all these years later that’s hardly something I’d be chatting about.