You said a man with a plan. I raise you an official plan.
One carefully orchestrated evening. Zero winging it. Probably.
What follows is a fully documented evening itinerary. Exit points are clearly marked. I thought of everything.
This is not a trap. (It is slightly a trap. The good kind.)
I found a sushi spot. Before you Google it, I know. It looks exactly like a Happy Ending Massage Parlor. The parking lot is giving cash only, no eye contact. I chose not to investigate further.
Do not be fooled. Inside is genuinely, embarrassingly good sushi. Zero Instagram presence. Full dining room on a Tuesday. The only thing they're rolling here is maki, and it goes hard.
Not the actual restaurant. Accurate energy. Trust the process.
Dinner was a 6/10 or below? We call it a cultural experience, you go home, and we never speak of the parking lot again. Zero awkwardness. You were warned about the location.
Glen Park. Short walk, good creek, more stars than Provo deserves. You can tell me at least one of your deepest darkest secrets. I'll bring a jacket in case you forget yours.
Canyon Glen. The real one is better. Bring a sweater.
To be continued. There is a Date 287 in the plan. I was advised not to include that section on this website. Date 267................................ sex.
So. Are you in?
What are you comfortable with on a first date?
What are you telling your friends about Tuesday?
Which Mormon temple are we getting married in for our second date?
Honeymoon destination?