September 19, 1987.
Twenty years ago.
My first date.
I was fifteen and very excited to be going out with a guy who had just turned sixteen. He was pleasant enough and seemed to like me. Or he liked that I liked him. Whatever.
It was a double date. The other guy drove and paid more attention to me than my date did. I think we ordered pizza and watched a movie or television or something.
I don't remember a gosh-darn thing as far as the details. Except, of course, that it was on September 19th.
I didn't kiss him.
We did that a week later, on September 26, 1987.
It was boring. He was too clinical about it. ("Lick your lips before we start. Tilt your head to the right. Keep your eyes closed." Yes, he actually said each of these things.)
I was disappointed. I wanted fireworks. I got a barely burning candle wick.
It took a while for my love life to improve... almost a decade, really.
Happy anniversary, teenage self.
You've come a long way, baby.