It's Finally Here! How I Dated My Husband: Part II in a Series

Y'all have been so patient. Not like anyone has been banging down my door for second helpings. When I was writing about the blind dates from hell, my dear readers couldn't get enough of my misery. Schadenfreude is part of the human experience, I guess. I'm guilty.

Since it's a new year, I'm required to recruit new members to the Mr. J. fan club. Let the recruitment effort commence:

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm not just mentally unstable. I'm also pretty evil. After the whole Blane experience, I decided that for our first "real" date - i.e., unchaperoned by Steve and Suzanne - we would go to the same notorious cash-only restaurant that showed me Blane's true colors early on. Yes, heterosexual gentlemen readers (all 4 of you). I set a trap. However, please do not use my opprobrious act as evidence that all women are manipulative shrews.

I was running late for our date. (Okay, if you've been a reader for more than a month, I don't need to type that anymore, do I? Let's just assume that's how every story begins if I'm to leave the house, okay?) I was not dragging my feet late, just oh-my-gosh-I-like-this-guy, so I must change clothes 17 times late. It was also raining unbelievably hard outside; I knew I wouldn't find a parking space very near the restaurant. Hence, I resigned myself to parking several storefronts down and seeing Mr. J. for the first time in a week wearing the costume of "drowned rat." So much for the 17 outfit changes.

One last refresh of the lipstick in the rear view mirror and then my heart stopped. Some weirdo was here to kill me before my date. Someone was standing next to my car. Did I have my cell phone? Who should I call? Is, "Someone is standing outside my car and it's dark and raining" a legitimate reason to dial 9-1-1? And then I looked again. It was Mr. J. - holding an umbrella and a dozen teeny tiny pink roses. I opened the car door while mentally praying all I had done was check my lipstick and not, um, my nostrils or anything else embarrassing. Mr. J. spoke first, "I didn't mean to scare you. But it's raining so hard and I wasn't sure if you had an umbrella." I didn't. Then I stammered, "But, I'm, um, 10 minutes late. How - where - were you standing outside for the past 10 minutes?" He nodded. "Yeah. It wasn't bad at all." He's an excellent liar sometimes.

Then he handed me the roses. "You probably don't want to bring these into the restaurant, so if you want to put them in your car now, that's fine." He was right again, and I did put them in my car.

Do I really need to tell you that he had cash for the restaurant? Because of course he did. Stay tuned . . . many more nauseatingly romantic tales to come!