My First Date Ever was shockingly not terrible. I was a sophomore in high school and this cute junior wrestler named Justin pursued me. He got my AOL screen name, messaged me while my mom was on it (she had a snooping problem), and talked her into encouraging me to go out with him, which was actually kind of sweet. This cute, older boy wanted to take me out so badly that he'd sweet talked my mom!
Our first date was, of course, not a proper date but more of a hangout. Justin and a couple of his friends picked me up at my parents' house and then we went back to his parents house while I watched his crummy pop punk band practice in the basement. I was instantly smitten, because there wasn't anything I liked more those days than crummy pop punk bands.
After practice he got a call from his friend Joe saying that dude had punched a wall, thought his hand was broken, and needed a ride to hospital. This sounded like the opposite of fun to me, but I went along anyway and waited patiently in the ER. Until a Frosty craving hit.
Justin and I drove the half mile to the local Wendy's and got ourselves a couple tasty chocolate-y iced treats. And then the most adorable thing happened: Justin looked at me and said, "let's get a bunch of Frosties and take them back to the hospital and pass them out to people in the waiting room!" I think hearts and flowers and rainbows and puppy dogs exploded out of my eyeballs and ears as I frantically shook my head up and down and smiled like a prize idiot.
And we did. And it was sweet. Everyone appreciated it. Later, when we left the hospital to go home, there was a beautiful sunset and Justin said, "Let's just drive until we can see the whole thing." *This dude was a total charmer* I put my hands on my swelling 15-year-old heart and fell head over heels in love with that fucker. Because, really, how could you not?