smacky and bucky

Allow me to set the scene:

Just over six years ago, I was a few months returned from Africa. Still had Africa's dirt between my toes (figuratively, okay? I bathed!). I had moved to DC, and had just found a real-life grown-up job, with health insurance and everything. A good number of my fellow volunteers had also moved to DC, so happy hours and weekends were like mini-reunions.

One happy hour I met up with my buddy Kerri, and she brought along her friend from high school. Her friend was a cute redhead with an adorable smile. We had a few, then a few more. On the walk back to the metro, I got Kerri alone and not-very-subtly slurred "You gotta give me her number!"

She diplomatically slipped back and asked her friend if that was okay. She said it was, and I got her number. I waited two days to call, not to be cool, but because I was nervous. I hadn't actually called and asked a girl on a date in seven years. I had dated the same girl for five years, then left for Africa--the land of no phones. Rusty? I was the freaking TIN MAN, frozen in the woods.

The call... Imagine an eight-year-old boy making a prank call to a sorority house. My voice was breaking like Peter Brady's in that episode in which his voice broke. A voice in my head was saying "Bail! Bail! Hang up!" I ignored it, and we ended up having our first date on April 10, 2000. She later said she had picked a Monday for our first date because if it was a disaster, at least it wasn't on the weekend. I later broke up with that girl and then I met my wife...

...Just kidding! That first date wasn't awful, and was the first of many. I married her. Six years ago today, Laura and I had our very first date. And since I was too nervous to be suave, she saw the real me, and decided she liked me.