It was a time when doctors made house calls, milk bottles were delivered to your door step, and cars had fins.

She had short cropped brown hair and was my speech therapist. I was in “wuv”. I wouldn’t say I was a good looking kid, but I did talk funny. Like Elmer Fudd turning “rascally rabbit” into “wascally wabbit”.

She asked my parents if she could take me out for ice cream. Even though my parents and I had never discussed sex, dating and other mysteries of love, I couldn’t believe my luck when they said yes.

I wanted to be the one to drive, buy my foot wouldn’t reach the gas pedal. It was determined that she would pick me up.

In 45 minutes my date was to arrive, but right now I was staring at a plate of uneaten broccoli—my date was in jeopardy. The common rule of the day was finish everything on your plate or no dessert. Apparently my parents considered my girl dessert. Love won out and the broccoli was hastily eaten.

She showed up in a convertible. Not any convertible, but a Firebird convertible! I don’t know what I cherished more. The prospect of me riding in a car with no top or the look of jealously on my brother’s face.

We arrived at a “Happy Days” like diner. As the jukebox blared the Four Platters, we walked to a booth and sat down. I could tell right off that she was popular. There was a constant stream of guys and gals coming to our table to say hello. The women ogled over me and the men were wondering what I had that they didn’t. I could tell I was special. I was loved and admired. It just wasn’t my looks, it was my style.

But what was to be my next move? All I had learned about girls was from the five year old who lived next door. We were in the middle of a medical exam. My mom walked in. All hell broke loose. Not only were my aspirations of becoming a doctor dashed, but I was rapidly becoming a schizophrenic around women.

The next move became obvious. Order ice cream! I ordered chocolate and vanilla with lots of whipped cream. I gobbled the ice cream and we headed to the car.

My next decision was whether to hold her hand or not. I didn’t want to be too forward. there was also the added problem of height differences. The decision was quickly taken out of my control when she grasped my hand to cross the street. Not exactly romantic, but it did show she cared.

I wish there were more to tell you, but not much more happened. A quick kiss on the head and she was gone.

I see from that day long ago the rules of dating have not changed.

1. Older women have more experience.

2. Eating ice cream is good on the first date.

3. Always hold their hand.

4. Sometimes you let them pay.

5. Date women with convertibles!

As you can see, dating doesn’t have to be traumatic. It can just be good old fashion fun!

~

Author: Wayne Furnweger

Editor: Erin Lawson

Images: Flickr/Vishal Patel    //    Flickr/Kim MyoungSung