Boy meets girl.

Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. Boy and girl watch fireworks and then carry on interesting conversation, interesting enough that girl wouldn’t mind if boy wants her phone number. He does. Girl awaits his call with actual anticipation.

Boy calls girl. Girl answers. Boy and girl talk endlessly about everything (including girl's new health regimen and all that that entails), and girl believes they were meant to talk to each other forever. Boy calls again. And again. Girl answers every time. Girl even calls boy and he answers. Boy asks girl out. Girl accepts. Boy is going to look up all the vegetarian, vegan, and veggie-friendly restaurants in the area to take girl somewhere where she can comfortably eat the food.

Boy picks girl up. Girl . . . lets him pick her up? (Can't think of anything better.) Anyways, boy is thirty minutes late, but girl looks mighty fine in her new Plato’s Closet short-sleeve sweater dress and doesn't mind at all. Boy sees her and says, “Oh, you’re wearing sandals . . .” Girl says, “Uh-huh. What do you mean? What are we doing?” Boy says, “We’re going up in the canyon.” Girl says, “I don’t have a jacket.” Boy says, “Oh. Yeah." Then boy continues, "And we’re doing a BBQ and bonfire up there, so do you have any food at your place you can eat?” Girl says, “No, you idiot, but if you’d told me even half an hour ago I could’ve though.” Okay, girl really didn’t say that, but she did communicate that with her body language, tone, attitude, and eye contact. Just not her words. Instead she said, “Well, why don't you take me back home, and I’ll change my clothes. I don’t have anything at my house to grill because I’m vegan and you know that and we’ve talked hours about how hard it is to find food I can eat when it’s a date or social event, but I guess we can see what I can find at the grocery store.” Okay, she didn’t say all that either, but basically. Perfect beginning to a first (and last) date.

Boy grills steak. Girl grills salmon. (Good thing girl's a seafood-eating vegan.) The food is delicious enough to at least cloud girl’s memory of how the first hour of the date went down. Then girl's chair topples down the hill with her still in it, and she remembers. Half way through the night girl's RA starts to flare up hard core in her left shoulder, and boy comes to the rescue with a shoulder massage, although unfortunately pointing out that girl's deltoid is almost nonexistent. 

Boy hasn’t called girl since. Girl hasn’t called boy since, although she needs to because boy still has her camping chair and salt shaker. And they lived happily ever after. The End.