I never went on many dates.  The Hubbs and I met in college and started dating shortly before I turned 20 years old and I don’t think he would have appreciated my dating around.  So, I didn’t.  I knew I was playing for keeps.  There was, however, one date in particular my freshman year of college (before The Hubbs and I were a hot ticket) that I will never forget.  Have you ever been asked on a first date, “Do you know Jesus?”

I saw this guy at a coffee shop seeing me.  You know, seeeeing me.  Looking at me and then looking away and then looking back.  At first I thought maybe I had tucked my shirt into my underwear instead of just my pants or maybe had only put make-up on one side of my face.  He finally approached me and I sucked all of the air out of the room in anticipation.  Flitter flutter.  I hoped I had successfully batted my eyes at him and that it didn’t look like I was losing a contact.  He said, “Hello” and introduced himself.  I probably burped.  A small burp.  Sometimes that happens when I’m nervous.  I said my name, I think and then he was giving me his number and asking me to “hang out.”

Upon leaving the coffee shop, (I know I must have scooped my jelly limbs off the coffee shop floor because I am sitting here in my office writing all this down and not still molded to my stool with a very very cold cup of coffee.) I made it back to my dorm room.  I don’t know why I was this way and by “this way” I mean suddenly gripped with the made up urgency of the situation.  I had to call right away!  He was going to forget my name – most people do and then try to guess achieving something semi-similar.  He was going to forget whatever it was that he was looking at that made him get up and give me his number.  I called.  Left a message.  I don’t think I burped this time.  Hooray. 

He called back!  Hooray some more!  We meet up on a bench in a grassy, flowery, girly area of campus.  Hindsight has revealed to me that this must be his “Jesus-name-dropping bench.”  I sit awkwardly wondering if knees should be touching this early in our knowing each other.  And then he takes it to a whole new level.  He begins to give me a shoulder massage, which by the way, was peculiar not only to me but also to the other students walking around, faculty hurrying to meetings and parents touring the school grounds.  He asks, “Are you a good girl?”  HOLD IT, SUCKER.  I may be a little naïve, but I’m no dullard.  I immediately pulled away and turned to face him and he interrupts my tellings-off with: “Do you know Jesus?”  Excuse me?  What?  You were on the verge of molesting me in public and you want to know about my personal relationship with Jesus?  I think I asked, “Why?  Is He here?”  Ass. Hole.

Our relationship didn’t take off.  I took off.  Back to the safety of my dorm room, back to being a prospect-less freshman.  Then, I met The Hubbs and everything was fine.

 

P.S.  I DO know Jesus.  He sends His regards.

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