Have a fun day canoeing. It’s that time of year.

Back in 1998 when I invited my not-yet husband to go canoeing with me and my coworkers, he accepted without enthusiasm. Something like, “I guess.” We’d had three dates by that time, and I told him, quite seriously, that I expected to see a little more excitement if I ask him to do something with me again. Mark said he was happy to spend time with me but was not thrilled about canoeing. He can’t swim, he said.

Who can’t swim? Any animal can swim if you throw it in the water. I thought.

The Saturday came. On the way to Morgan’s Canoe Livery in Morrow we stopped at Mom’s Restaurant in Red Lion, where Franklin, Springboro and Lebanon converge. The place was crowded. Mark and I took the last table available, the booth next to the front window. The table was right next to the window with only one bench, looking out. So I scooted in next to Mark, and we ate side by side. He ordered biscuits and gravy and loved it. I cannot remember what I ordered.

Finally at Morgan’s that June day, I introduced Mark to my coworkers, he and I loaded the canoe with our sandwiches and sodas for lunch and off we floated.

A couple hours in, once it had warmed up, I was keeping my eye out for a good spot to flip the canoe, someplace deep enough that we would get completely wet for refreshment, deep enough that we could swim.

I was riding in the back and at the perfect place, I leaned left and over we went. I went under and came up in time to see Mark pop up, grabbing for our downed canoe. He looked terrified; I felt terrible. He couldn’t swim.

The water came to Mark’s chin, which is deep enough to be scary if you don’t know how to swim. I swam after our lunch floating in the current and returned to Mark, who, at that point, had no idea I had flipped us on purpose. The canoe was full to the top with river water, and I threw our lunch on top. We floated the canoe to the far grassy bank, away from river traffic.

We hoisted ourselves from the deep water onto the bank; I set our lunch in the grass; we picked the canoe up, flipped it to empty the water and placed it on the river; I replaced our lunch in the bottom; Mark got in; I got in; and over we went.

I caught our lunch before it had floated too far and tossed it on the bank. We hoisted ourselves out of the river, picked the canoe up, flipped it to empty the water, and placed it on the river; I grabbed our lunch; Mark got in; I got in; and…over we went.

Thus far, I had been keeping my temper in check. This time I blew—though I didn’t yell at Mark directly, despite being angry with him for not balancing each time I got in. However, I was letting loose the expletives—and this was just our fourth date. I didn’t think that at the time though.

I grabbed our lunch before it had floated too far. I tossed the lunch on the bank and climbed from the water. Canoes floated past filled with boys about 10 years old, paddling slowly, jaws hanging, eyes wide, staring at me. I’m sure they heard nothing they hadn’t heard before. Perhaps they hadn’t heard all those words strung together so creatively. I shut up.

Hands on hips and with a sigh, I told Mark I needed to rest a minute; my arms were almost spaghetti after hoisting myself from the water three times and flipping the canoe twice already. Eventually, we picked it up and flipped it and I got in first this time. This time we were good—until the rapids farther downstream. The river was shallow there, thank goodness.

That evening after Mark had gone home, I thought about how much I was starting to like him. But, I honestly thought we’d just had our last date. Would he want to continue seeing someone who loses her cool as I had done?

You know how it turned out. He thought the whole thing—except the canoe capsizing—was funny.

Had he known I flipped us on purpose, the ending might be different. I didn’t tell him until we were married.