BEFORE I ASKED the future Mrs. Johnston to marry me, there were a couple of other questions that I needed answered.

The first question was: What's your name? I figured it would be a good idea to know the name of the woman I would spend the rest of my life with. Sure, I could get away with introducing her as "Mrs. Johnston" (the nickname of "The Truly Unpleasant Mrs. Johnston" didn't get attached to her until several years later) but for those formal occasions, it would be nice to know her full name.

The other thing I needed to know before I popped the big question was: Are you married now?

If it turned out that the future Mrs. Johnston was married, it would throw a big wrench into my plans, which included getting married and having a bunch of kids and spending the next 50 years driving each other nuts.

One of the things that attracted me to the future Mrs. Johnston was her look of honesty. She looked like a person who would remain loyal to her husband, even when she was being offered a far better life with another guy from Seattle. Plus, she seemed like the type of woman who would be peeved at me if I accidentally killed her husband.

As it turned out, the future Mrs. Johnston wasn't married, so I didn't have to kill anyone. And, she told me her name was Nancy G. Barrett.

The problem with deciding right away that you're going to marry someone who doesn't know you exist is that the person may take it wrong if you suddenly blurt out your plans. Especially when being introduced.

"It's nice to meet you, Nancy," I could say. "How would you like to move to Seattle and have a bunch of kids with me?"

"Excuse me while I call the police," the future Mrs. Johnston would say.

But I'm from Everett, and we know how to court a girl. We don't believe in throwing a blanket over her and riding off into the sunset in a pickup truck. That's a Tacoma thing. Nor do we like to talk about our birth signs and our feelings. That's more Seattle. No, guys from Everett like to dazzle the ladies with our stability. Our motto is, "We may be boring but we are employed." Not only was I employed, but also I was being paid even as I sized up the future Mrs. Johnston.

(I must digress. This meeting took place in San Francisco in 1979. I was a reporter for The Seattle Times and had been sent down south to cover a federal trial. The trial lasted almost four months, long enough for me to meet my future wife, convince her I wasn't nuts and get her to leave her beloved City By The Bay.

(The meeting was arranged by an editor at The Times. Oddly enough, we are still friends with that editor. I'm through digressing now and will get back to the courtship.)

I found out that the future Mrs. Johnston worked for a bank, and I saw my opportunity. I told her that The Times was sending my paychecks to my hotel, and I was having a hard time cashing them because I was from out of town. Maybe the future Mrs. Johnston could arrange to get me a checking account so I could cash my extremely large paychecks? Maybe I could drop by her office, open the account and — to show my appreciation, of course — take her out to lunch?

Sure, the future Mrs. Johnston said, not realizing the trap had been sprung.

When we met the next day, I opened the account and, just for good measure, I opened a $25,000 line of credit. I didn't need it, but it showed that Mrs. Johnston's future husband had a good credit rating.

We had such a good time at lunch (I can be charming for short periods) that I said it would be nice if the future Mrs. Johnston could show me some of her lovely city. You could almost hear the jaws of the trap closing.

While at dinner shortly thereafter, I told the future Mrs. Johnston that the trial I was covering was only going to last a couple more months, and I thought it would be a good idea if we got to know each other a little better because we were going to spend the rest of our lives together.

It must have worked because in January we will celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary. I would do it all over again, really. But I wish the woman known as the Truly Unpleasant Mrs. Johnston would stop saying, "What happened?"

Steve Johnston is a retired Seattle Times reporter. His e-mail address is stevejonst@aol.com. Paul Schmid is a Times news artist.