Yes.

It was 1995 and I had a crush on Carey Moyer.

At 19 years of age, I had zero grace with ladies. It was fashionable (and probably always will be) to target empty-headed hotties, but I had no interest. Same went for the intellectual bookworms and volleyball stars and Susie Homemakers and career climbers. The girls I liked spending time with usually defied classification: they were just weird, which usually translated as crazy.

And Carey was definitely that. I liked the animal-rights activist thing. I also liked that she dressed like a recovering punk/hippy/goth with strange jewelry and sweet perfumes. Her hair was straight, dark and nearly waist-length. Her skin was pale, her face heart-shaped.

We'd become fast friends due to a shared interest in theater. Talking to Carey was both comfortable and challenging: she kept you thinking. She didn't fall for the usual bullshit guys tend to throw at girls to keep them interested ("I sense something deep and unique in you that I don't see in most other girls... tell me about what makes you tick, I'm dying to know!").

After screwing up the nerve, I finally held my breath and gave her a call to ask her if she'd be willing to accompany me to our school's Homecoming festivities. When I brought the subject up to her, she mentioned that it happened to fall on her birthday and her parents would be visiting. So, if I didn't mind her folks tagging along, yes, she'd be glad to go.

And, of course, the day before Homecoming, she broke her foot.

It was the recipe for a horrid first date: on her birthday, with her parents, cast and crutches in tow. I really, really liked this girl, though, so I hoped for the best.

So we went.

After dropping her off at the end of the evening, I headed back to the dorm and told a few of my friends, "it was the best date I've ever been on. In fact, it was one of the best nights of my life."

That was ten years ago today.

So, since October 20th is still her birthday, Happy Birthday, Care. I hope 29 is the best year yet.

And while the days of waist-length hair and gothy jewelry are long gone (although the sweet perfumes and animal-rights activism have managed to hang around), I still think of that night often. "I love you" wouldn't come for another year and a half and "as long as we both shall live" was four and a half years away, but I still look at October 20, 1995 as the first day of my favorite chapter.

Seems like yesterday, babe, it really does.

Thanks for saying Yes.