Fiddledaddy and I celebrated our anniversary last week. We’ve been married for ten hundred years. Quite an accomplishment. To celebrate, we decided to go out to dinner. And leave the three products of our union behind. I asked Aunt Trish if we could
dump leave them at her house. I never worry about the two girls, but Jensen is my wild card. I was concerned that he would have a meltdown. From missing us so much. He raced up to Aunt Trish’s door. As soon as he entered, he went in search of her sons’ stash of hotwheels. Instinctively he knows that this particular house is heavily testosterone laden. There are cars, robots, and superheroes at every turn. And not a Barbie in the bunch. He squealed with glee. These are his people.
The children didn’t even look back for one last peek at us. As if to say, “Don’t let the door hit you on the fanny!” We walked to the now empty and silent van. SUCKERS! Fiddledaddy peeled out. Okay, he didn’t exactly peel out. But I’m sure he thought about it. We didn’t get 50 yards before I started crying. It was clear that I was going to need a cocktail. He looked at me, “You’ve got to be kidding me?” He promptly called Aunt Trish to let her assure me that everything was fine. And that the sliding glass door to the pool was securely locked. And the smoke detectors were fully functioning.
We arrived at the restaurant and Fiddledaddy asked for a quiet booth, off in a dark corner. Very romantic. Also practical. In case, you know, I should deem the meal exceptionally good and attempt to lick my plate. At some point he mentioned to our server that it was our anniversary. Demurely I ordered a Pomegranate Margarita. Which when it arrived, was so large that I had to hold it with two hands. Come to mama.
We enjoyed a wonderfully quiet and romantic dinner. That is until our server, and 4 of her friends serenaded us with song. They forgot to inform one performer that it was an anniversary and not a birthday, so we had a rousing rendition of a tune that was completely unintelligible. In the end it was worth it because with the song came a complementary dessert. I was awfully glad that I had the good sense to wear my stretchypants.
After dinner, we walked around the open air mall. And found ourselves in Kohl’s Department Store. A favorite of mine. It was fun to shop without three children pulling me in different directions. Although, we did end up in the toy section. Old habits are hard to break. In the end we bought really nice new sheets for ourselves. While Fiddledaddy was paying, I wandered over to women’s clothing.
Where I was appalled. Appalled at the apparel.
My eyes were assaulted by the sea of multi-print tunic blouses in polyester. WHEN DID THESE COME BACK IN STYLE? AND WHY? This whole new fashion craze, that I have evidently slept through, just seems very flammable to me. And that’s just wrong. It was wrong back in 1976, and it’s just as wrong today.
And yet, I was strangely drawn to them.
Our date night was such a success with the children that Aunt Trish and I were on the phone over the weekend planning once a month getaway date nights for each of us. Gives us something to live for.
Do you all plan date nights? If so, how often, and where is your favorite place to “get away?” This is a completely new concept for me, and any fresh, new, and frugally practical ideas would be greatly appreciated.