One shot at a ‘super date’ pays dividends

By Randy Capps

I've told a few stories about my relationship with my lovely and talented wife. In our 22 years (and change) of marriage, we’ve had some amazing experiences together and have led a life together that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

But if you could go back to May 1998, you wouldn’t have bet on it ever happening.

I’m not even sure you could say we were friends back then. We knew the same people and spent time together — and I was sort of dating her roommate — but we didn’t see eye-to-eye on very much.

That changed at my college graduation. It was May 9, a day that would become memorable for a few reasons.

Shanna showed up at my graduation, dressed to kill in hopes of impressing a former boyfriend (that’s a different story). She turned more than a few heads in Boiling Springs that day, but mine is the one that’s important for this tale.

I went on the last date with a woman other than my wife that night, but I was already hatching a plan. What do you do when you suddenly develop feelings for a woman that you’ve been actively hostile to in the six months that you’ve known her? Turn on the charm, of course. Unfortunately for me, Shanna wasn’t quick to forgive me for my relentless teasing (that’s another story).

Long before “How I Met Your Mother” made it famous, I went to the playbook. Since charm was ineffective, I moved on to mild stalking, or to avoid legal woes, we’ll call it persistence. So, I started asking her out. Often. Shanna was unmoved. She said no every time, no matter the offer. My friends told me to give it up (yet another story there, about how one of them in particular still owes me a case of beer), and I was running out of ideas.

Finally, I played my last card. I called her at work, and made her an offer. “Go on one date with me,” I said. “And if you don’t have a good time, I’ll never bother you again.”

Shanna, sensing an opportunity to be rid of a pest, agreed. And as soon as I hung up the phone, my joy turned to panic.

This had to be the best date ever. Many years later, I heard the term “super date” on “How I Met Your Mother,” but back in 1998, I had to plan one.

As any good writer might do, I started with the ending. Knowing Shanna’s affinity for the ocean, I knew we had to wind up there at some point.

That opened up a realm of possibilities, since I knew we’d be driving from Marion to Myrtle Beach. Then, in keeping with the writer’s approach, I stuck with what I knew for dinner.

Back then, Fuddruckers is what passed for fine dining. And since I didn’t yet own a computer (not that Google was a thing then, anyway), I had to rely on my knowledge of the Grand Strand to tell me that there was one at Barefoot Landing, which of course, is technically North Myrtle Beach.

So, that was the beginning of the night sorted. I was feeling pretty good about myself, since I had made it this far in a single afternoon of planning. I needed more, though. There had to be something else in between cheeseburgers and the Atlantic Ocean if this was going to be a date to remember.

The next day, the universe dropped the perfect idea in my lap. I heard a radio spot for a concert at the House of Blues, which just so happened to be very close to the aforementioned Fuddruckers. And Better Than Ezra, one of my favorite bands, just happened to be the headliner for that show.

I called Information (remember that) and got the number to the ticket office, then called the House of Blues and bought two tickets over the phone with my credit card. The middle part of the date was set, and all I had to do then was wait for the tickets to show up in the mail. Boy, the wheels turned slowly back then.

Shanna’s response to the news was less than encouraging. I had to explain who Better Than Ezra was and she had never heard of the restaurant. Thankfully, I had confidence to spare as a 22-year-old.

The big night arrived, and I picked her up. It turns out that she didn’t have a hard curfew, which was encouraging since we had about an hour drive there and back. We spent the drive getting her familiar with the band, thanks to my CD player. I learned later that me singing “This Time of Year,” in her general direction was impactful, but I can’t really take credit for that. I just like the music.

I don’t remember anything earth shattering about dinner. I chewed my food with my mouth closed and she ate very little (which would turn out to be standard for the first six months or so). We then went a mile or so down the road to the House of Blues where we watched the first of what has become many Better Than Ezra concerts. They were awesome, as they always are, which provided a nice transition into the finale — the walk on the beach.

I didn’t announce that part of the plan, as I wanted to see how things were going. But, I was feeling pretty good about the evening, so I suggested a side trip to the beach in the parking lot.

Shanna, who certainly seemed to be having a good time, quickly agreed. Even if you aren’t a beach person — and I’m not — the ocean on a clear, moonlit night is quite a tableau. We stayed for a while, chatting and soaking it all in.

We headed back inland, still listening to BTE but talking much more than on the ride down. We were connecting. So much so that I almost forgot about our deal.

I remembered a few miles from her house, but thought I’d wait until the driveway to ask how the date had gone.

We pulled up, got out and headed toward her door.

I asked, “So, did you have a good time?” She could have messed with me and said no, but thankfully she didn’t.

The night’s success or failure had taken up so much of my thought process that I didn’t even have time to ponder what is usually the most critical question about a first date: How does it end?

A bad date might end in a handshake, or a one-armed hug. A decent date might be a hug and peck on the check. The best first dates (for a lady and a gentleman, anyway) end in a hug and a kiss.

Ours ended with the latter, the first of many kisses, each better and more meaningful than the last.