I meant to do this post on Monday, but Thursday is close enough.
Six years ago, Johnny and I went on our first date. I remember him calling me up the Tuesday before and asking if I had dinner plans for Sunday night. I was sitting in a Starbucks studying for a Geology test. Unfortunately, Geology didn't turn out as well for me as this relationship did. Now, Johnny Hutson asking me out was a big surprise. I had a huge crush on him, but so did a few other girls, so I had decided to play it cool and not pursue anything. Apparently that worked.
As the week went on, I got more and more excited for this date, realizing that it was more than just a normal first date. Johnny first of all informed me that he would be wearing a jacket, and I should dress accordingly. Then he called me wanting my dad's phone number. At first I thought he was a weirdo for calling my dad to ask if he could take me out, but now that I have a daughter, I can see why my dad would appreciate that.
The night of our first date, Johnny had said that he would pick me up at 5:45. 5:45 rolled around and then 5:50. I called him to make sure that I wasn't getting stood up. I believe the conversation went something like this:
"Hi Johnny, were you going to get me at 5:45?"
"Yeah I'll be there right at 5:45."
"Umm, ok..." as I looked at the clock and it said 5:52.
He soon after came to my dorm and picked me up. We got in his 1986 Camry that has since passed away, completely different date story, and he had a tea cup and a travel mug of tea waiting for me. I don't remember much of the car ride, but we ended up going into Chicago to a restaurant called The Rosebud. The destination had been a big secret because we were one of the first Wheaton Crew couples in a few years, so everyone was very nosy about the details. We sat down, and soon after ordering, our waiter came over with a plate of Bruschetta,
"An appetizer...from your friends," he said.
We looked around the corner of the restaurant and saw a table full of our crew friends. We found out later that our friend, Stephen Powell, had somehow figured out what restaurant we were going to, and called them pretending to be Johnny and asked what time the reservation was. I have a picture of us sitting with them at the restaurant somewhere, but I can't seem to find it. My apologies.
Our loving friends left us alone for the rest of the meal. And even though the conversation I remember went like this:
Rachel: "So what's your favorite movie?
Johnny: "I don't really have favorites."
Silence.
I still went away from the date pretty much knowing that I would marry this man because when we ordered our main dishes, we both discovered that the other person did not like tomatoes or tomato sauce, which is a rare find. I knew after that that we would live the rest of our lives not eating spaghetti together.
