D.I. Joe

What with the world in the current state of higgledy-piggledy that it’s in, I think it is high time that I, as a professional journalist, use my resources and abilities to tell you about another Wacky First Date that I had recently. The Wacky First Date has become the most popular feature of this column, judged by the fact that every time I talk about one, I receive, on the average, fewer angry, mistake-ridden letters than I normally do.

Anyway, my most recent Wacky First Date was with a girl named Susana, and another couple, consisting of my friends Pat and Garaghty (Garaghty’s the girl; Pat’s the guy). Susana is a very fun girl who just loves it when you tell her, after saying her name, that you came from Alabama with a banjo on your knee. It’s her favorite joke, I know.

The four of us started out the evening by going to Deseret Industries and buying hideous, highly unflattering clothing for one another. And let me just say that if you’re looking for hideous, highly unflattering clothing at a very low price, D.I. is definitely the place to go. We found clothes there that we are certain no person has ever actually worn, except on special occasions, such as Halloween or after drinking heavily. In fact, we couldn’t imagine the clothing manufacturers actually expecting people to buy some of this clothing. We thought surely they were joking when they made it, and the fact that somebody bought it and maybe even wore it just makes the joke funnier. The clothing manufacturers probably just laugh themselves into insulin fits when they hear that their clothes have actually been RE-sold at D.I.

Anyway, we found some terrible clothing for one another and then wore it for the rest of the night. My ensemble consisted of a pair of brown slacks that were approximately size 78 and that could have easily held seven of me (if there were that many of me, which fortunately there are not); a belt that was, technically speaking, a scarf; a button-up shirt that was, for want of a more descriptive word, plaid; a tie with a pattern that was capable of descrambling cable television channels; and a maroon basketball jersey, number 40, with the team name Sprouse Insurance Agency. I assume this came from some corporate basketball tournament, and the rest of the night, I kept expecting some accountant to come up to me and say, “You think you Sprouse boys are hot? Well, this year, me and all the other H & R Block guys are gonna kick your butts all over the court!” But fortunately, that never happened.

We then went to the mall and ate dinner at some pizza place, and we got a lot of funny looks, many of them from people who were dressed even stupider than we were, e.g., as cowboys. There seem to be a lot of cowboys in Provo, or at least people who enjoy dressing up like them, and there are especially a lot at the mall, which strikes me as odd, since there are not any farms at the mall.

Anyway, after that we put together a jigsaw puzzle in the main lounge of the Wilkinson Center at BYU, and that pretty much sums up the date. It was, overall, pretty Wacky, and we all had fun. Plus, I’ve received a lot of compliments on my basketball jersey. I tell people we’re state champs, five years running. Some people actually believe me. Especially the cowboys.

(Eric D. Snider is a freshman at BYU from Lake Elsinore, California, and in the subject of basketball, he picks Northeast Louisiana to win the NCAA Tournament, going by the fact that it is the school with the longest name.)

The date discussed in this article was one of the most fun dates I've ever been on. I recall that Susana (whose name was actually spelled Susannah) had originally been assigned as my date for some church social function for which they were assigning dates to everyone, only she couldn't go. So she offered to make it up to me by going out another time. I really liked her. She was very funny and cool, and not like a billion other girls I know. But I think she ran off with a rock band after our one and only date.

You may recall Garaghty as being the girl I asked out in the fifth grade (see this column to read about that). It's the same Garaghty. I only know one.