Thursday, September 27, 2012


Last Friday, John and I went on a date.

(And I  know what you're thinking.  You're all, what the heck, Sherri?  Apparently y'all just go on dates and travel to Paris all the time.  Um, NO.  We also get into REALLY stupid fights and say dumb things to each other.   But I'm thinking y'all would rather hear about the fun stuff, than about how I got upset because I didn't like John's tone when he told me that no, he definitely does not want to watch Switched at Birth with me. Again. )

(Or you know. Something like that.)

Anyway, John planned this date and then very mysteriously wouldn't tell me where we were going.  As is typical, I tried to pretend it didn't bother me, while furiously trying to figure it out.

And, you know, maybe throwing out some ridiculous entirely reasonable suggestions as we drove......"oh, you're taking me to get a puppy!"

(Insert John dying laughing).

"I know!  We're going to a spa!"

(More laughter.)

"You're taking me on a helicopter ride!"

(Looks of disbelief, and an "are you for real right now?")

Finally, as we are headed into a random swim and tennis neighborhood in Dunwoody, it hits me.  I've been here once before.

We pull up to the clubhouse, and I am immediately transported to June of 2003.  A much younger, much skinnier, and probably much cooler version of myself walked in the doors of this clubhouse for a church singles gathering.  Despite having moved to Atlanta literally THAT afternoon, (AND despite already having a boyfriend), I was convinced to go to this singles thing by my best friend, Steph.

I made zero effort with my appearance, because let's face it, singles functions can be weird, and full of creepers.  Plus, the boyfriend.  I put on my favorite t-shirt, and my favorite comfortable pants (that John would later force me to throw away, they were so unfortunate).   Clearly, my expectations were not high.  Mainly I just hoped to grab some free food and make some new friends.

I'd say I got a little more than I bargained for.

I immediately notice this rather attractive guy, and had a thought that was something like:  "Hmmmmm.  How can I arrange to meet this young lad?"

(Because obviously my thoughts are Scottish.)

ANYWAY......fortunately for me, he was chatting with someone I knew.  So on my way out, our mutual friend is all, Hey Sherri!  Let me introduce you to John.

And I was all......Um, you're hot. And I like you. A lot. Do you want to date me?  Please, please, please want to date me! 

But you know.  Only in my head.

In real life, I think I managed something interesting and memorable, like "hi."

And that was it.  Because I went brain dead in his presence, I couldn't remember his name....although I thought about him enough over the next week to know that I needed to break things off with my (admittedly great) boyfriend.  I honestly didn't even know if I would ever see John again.

But God did.

Fast forward to our date Friday night.  We pull up to this clubhouse, and John pulls out the exact same t-shirt I was wearing the night we met.

And then makes me put it on over my (much cuter) date outfit.

We took this picture, and John was immediately like: "You're not going to like it."
He was right.
I am actually trying to point out the words on the shirt, and not force people to look at my chest.


(And by the way, I am wearing a belt under the shirt, not a giant roll of fat as it would appear.)

Everyone loves an Italian girl!
And apparently, I love being ironic.

 And then we walk around holding hands, and kissing, and saying generally mushy/barfy things like "Can you believe that was 9 years ago!"- (Him)   Or "What if someone had told you that we'd be married with a little girl next time we came back?"- (Me)

"I would absolutely have believed it."- (Him)

Yeah.  Me too.

1 comment:

Anna H. said...! Great date, John!