Thirty-five years later, asking my wife out was a pretty darn good decision

We took my 1979 yellow Chevy Chevette (much like this one) on our first date

I have a head for dates, to the point that my wife often turns to me when she can't figure out the specific year when some event happened, or the day on which a particular person's birthday falls.

In many cases, the dates that stick in my head are there for no particular reason, and there's no practical purpose to which I can put them. But they're there anyway.

Today, however, is not one of those dates. This one has significance, even if I'm the only one who regularly recalls it.

Thirty-five years ago today, on February 27, 1986, I asked my wife out on our first date. I wrote about the actual date experience here, as there were a few memorable moments to it.

We were 16 years old at the time. Just babies. The fact that she still wakes up every morning and thinks, "OK, I'll give him another day" is borderline miraculous. One of the true divine blessings of my life.

I asked her at the end of the school day as we were both standing at our lockers, which were near each other. I was very nervous. She said yes. I was relieved.

The rest is history and all of that, though I probably should have made a disclaimer at the time. Something along the lines of, "Hey, just so you know, if we keep dating and eventually get married, I'm going to routinely do things that make you shake your head. And I can't fix anything at all. And for a time, I will get irrationally upset at the failure of my sports teams to win games. Are you good with that?"

On second thought, maybe it was for the best that I kept my mouth shut.