Papi, you're getting old.
This week is the anniversary of my first date with Papi. The twentieth anniversary. Because we are old and befuddled, we don't remember the exact details. On or about January 4, 1990, I recall that we went to see Look Who's Talking , where I was mortified by the opening credits scene of sperm traveling through Fallopian tubes. Papi remembers there being a visit to Putt-Putt Miniature Golf and a stop at a JV basketball game where a guy in my class gave me a high-five. Anyway, that's pretty much the grand tour of Southeast Texas date spots. Twenty years later Papi knows far more about my Fallopian tubes than he could have ever imagined as a 16-year old with a mullet and a brand new driver's license. Happy anniversary, Papi.