I remember the first time I saw Brad. I was watching a few
of my friends play in an intramural basketball game, and when it was over, one
of the girls from my church walked in. She told me she was watching her
boyfriend. His name was Brad. I asked
her to point him out. And that’s where this whole experience turns into a
teeny-bopper film. She pointed down to her “boyfriend”, and there he was,
running down the court in our direction, with his bright blue eyes and big,
white smile. I couldn’t help myself. I said, “Wow, he’s really cute.”
Her response was short. “You can’t have him,” she said.
I didn’t think I wanted him, but I guess it was a portent of
things to come. Several months later, we started dating, and the rest is, as
they say, history.
From Brad’s Perspective
The first time I held Emily’s hand, I thought it was
disaster. We drove down to Barnes and Noble to look at books for a date (little
did I know that that was Emily’s dream date). As we were driving home, I thought
it was the best opportunity to hold her hand for the first time. So I did just that, and it seemed to go pretty well until we got back to
my apartment to watch a movie. Emily sat down on the couch first and proceeded
to slip her hands in her sweatshirt pocket. How was I supposed to hold her hand
now? I got flustered. She obviously didn’t like holding my hand. So I did the
best thing I could—I ditched the movie plan and took her home so I didn’t have
to sit awkwardly next to her. When I dropped her off, I went to visit my friend
and his wife for dating help. I figured I’d never take Emily out again.
Meanwhile, Emily was telling all her roommates what an awesome night it was
because I held her hand. I guess it wasn't as disastrous as I had thought.
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