Adam Ant! Way cool.
Yeah, it's hard for me to pinpoint, too... I'm not even sure when I actually met him.
What I know -- I lived in a housing co-op and he was applying to become a member of it, summer of 1992. This was a process that involved showing up to dinners and getting to know people before facing a panel and being interrogated -- if the interrogation went well, you'd be recommended to the house to become a member.
I think I met him, briefly, at a party that was held the night before the day that HE thinks he met me. He thinks I'm thinking of someone else and that he met me for the first time after I came stalking home after losing a game of pickup basketball -- I was grumpy and not in the mood to deal with guys I barely knew who I thought I'd met the night before anyway. So when he first met me I wasn't particularly nice.
I'd categorically excluded members of the house from the dating pool -- I'd seen too many house romances go pear-shaped and wanted to stay well away from that -- and he was applying to be a member of the house so he was categorically excluded, in my mind.
Even though he was very cute.
After that, we hung out more (first date yet? not exactly). I guess if I had to pinpoint a moment it would be when he hung around to help me do dishes (which he didn't have to do) and we had a long interesting discussion that included shared literature tastes but lots of other stuff too.
Somewhere around there he ASKED me on a date (biking to a nice spot, picnicking), but a) it wasn't really asked in a date-ish way and I did that sort of thing with platonic friends, too, and b) by the time we got to the arranged date, we'd already made out several times.
Things were definitely complicated by the fact that he was constantly IN my house. We'd hang out, that would come to an end, I'd go upstairs to do something, consider what I thought about him, not come to any conclusions, get hungry and go downstairs to get something to eat and he'd be in the kitchen chatting with other housemates. Then we'd chat some more. Etc.
The turning point was the poem. Things were percolating along in a friendly way when he wrote me this quite lovely poem and left it on my bed. A nosy housemate (is there any other kind?) saw him go in and out of my room and went in to see what was up (doors were usually unlocked). He picked up the poem, read it, and then dropped it/ wasn't sure where it had been/ tried to hide it (never knew which). Upshot was I didn't see it for several days, during which E.G. was going crazy trying to figure out what I thought about it.
When I saw it, I liked it.
Shortly thereafter, the snogging commenced.