He wanted to bury my keys for our anniversary

He suggested a picnic and brought a metal box marked OPEN ON OUR ANNIVERSARY. This was our first date. I hadn't even decided whether I liked his hat. He explained that we were making a relationship time capsule. Cute, in a man-who-has-already-picked-a-girlfriend way. I offered the paper sleeve from my lemonade. He looked wounded. “Something you won't miss isn't a sacrifice.” His contribution was a handwritten prediction that we'd own matching kayaks. Mine, he decided, should be my keys. I explained that I needed those to enter my home. He said that was exactly what made them emotionally significant. Then he produced an envelope labeled OUR FIRST DISAGREEMENT and started writing. A park employee told him he couldn't dig there. He asked whether the rule made an exception for destiny. It did not. I packed up my sandwich. He said leaving would ruin the capsule's historical accuracy. I gave him my napkin and told him to write down exactly what happened. He texted later asking when I'd be available to celebrate our first obstacle.