I enjoy dates so much. I enjoy spending time with Husband-Man, but our definition of a “date” has changes over the first few years of our marriage.
Our first date was not fun. He’d been my boyfriend for three months (and had been out on the middle of the woods for 2.99 of those months working for a camp), and finally took me out to the local pizza place after our summer jobs were over. He was so uncomfortable. He wouldn’t talk, didn’t start any conversations, and was so awkward. He told me later that it was because he had never been on a date before, and it made him nervous. Part 2 of our date included hunting for crawdads in the creek behind our college’s soccer field, and he relaxed and turned back into himself when the dress shirt came off and he was back in his sandals playing in the mud.
Our dates now usually involve us eating something that requires minimal amount of work, cuddling on the couch watching a movie, and him falling asleep on me while I talk to him during the movie.
I waited and waited for our first date because I had placed it on a pedestal, but in truth, dates now are about making our work and obligations wait, and focusing on each other.
And it’s wonderful.