Taking Dating to a New Low

Some very sweet friends of ours volunteered (for whatever crazy reason) to take the kids on Saturday afternoon, with promises that we wouldn't have to pick them up until the next morning.

Before I could convince them that they'd gone crazy, I dropped off the kids and high-tailed it out of Dodge in case they smelled the salt and changed their minds.

With an entire afternoon and evening ahead of us for the first time in both recent and distant memory, Brad and I spent the first thirty minutes staring at each other wondering what to do.

After moving an air hockey table to the basement and rearranging some furniture (I wish I was kidding), no epiphanies for outrageous fun materialized.

So I suggested we harken back to the early days of marriage and go grocery shopping together. Apparently when we were young apartment dwellers, we had little need to divide and conquer the weekend errand list. Instead, we did it together!

Home Depot. 

Together!

Target.

Together!

Eating out three times a day.

Together!

If you're starting to picture a scene similar to Beanie's existence in Old School, you are dead on.

So despite feeling a little nerdy, we headed out to have fun and sample ourselves silly.

In the parking lot, however, we spotted a Big Lots.

After a quick conference determining that neither of us had ever been to Big Lots, we whipped into a parking spot and began to live on the edge.

Not like we thought Big Lots held untold treasures we'd been missing, but there was some freedom of spontaneity. Had the kids (love them!) accompanied us, there's no way I would've taken the extra time to wander aimlessly through aisle after aisle of Miscellaneous Junk.

I'm not even going to put Big Lots in the shopping rotation, but at least now I know I'm not missing anything at all. If I ever feel the desire to shop in a Central American-style bodega with an unbelievably eclectic mix of products, most three to five years beyond their ideal shelf life, Big Lots is my place.

After our minor distraction, Brad and I actually made it to the grocery store, or La Food City, as we call it. (Someday I'll share the story on that, but just know that we never actually utter the words "grocery store." It's always "Lafooceetheey.")

Ironically, we ran into a friend of ours in produce. Well, sort of. 

We barely recognized each other because neither of us had our kids chained to the cart or running around wildly using bananas to blast unassuming old ladies. I stared at her way too long and she was hesitant to shout out our names because we didn't have our offspring to confirm our identity.

Scary.

Which is exactly why we need to get out more. And by the way things were going, not to the grocery store.

We actually had a great time together joking around and discussing some of our favorite and All-Time Grossest products.

A lot of lightbulbs came on for me as to why Brad takes forever to run to the store. He is magnetically attracted to each and every endcap, whenceforth he thoroughly scrutinzes the product and stares at it for awhile.

I am usually blowing through Lafooceetheey with only ten minutes to spare in which I need to purchase thirty items and arrive at preschool without a speeding ticket or a fine for being late to pick-up.

So after all that excitement, we were understandably hungry.

This, of course, called for dinner out, which led to a discussion about a shower. I kind of thought I would brush my hair, put on another layer of makeup, cover my stained shirt with a scarf, then head out the door.

Brad lovingly suggested I might want to shower first because I was looking a little greasy. (Which was most certainly true, but I didn't really care like I probably should.)

This is not the conversation of teenage lovebirds.

If someone had told me at 18 that my husband would one day be begging me to shower before a dinner engagement, I would've snorted and called them a liar.

But there we were.

And truth be told, Brad was right. A shower did make me feel surprisingly clean. That is one of the joys of a loving marriage--Brad knows me even better than I know myself. Or he just prefers the non-greasy look. Whatever.

He also wanted to watch the first half of the football before we left, so it was truly a win-win.

California Pizza Kitchen is always one of our favorite lunch or dinner stops. I think I love every single food that they serve. I won't detract from this very focused blog about our date to discuss my favorite menu items, but believe me, I could. Because, YUM.

Anyway, we sat at the bar, watched the second half of the football game, used free appetizer coupons, shared a waldorf salad and thai chicken pizza, and watched commercials for the first time since 2005.

It was great.

Sometimes on dates, we feel the need to discuss all the pressing, big issues we only have time to discuss in 4-minute fragments at home.

But Saturday night, we just plain had fun. We screamed at great plays, made snarky comments about the lame commercials, and discussed our favorite restaurant tortilla chips.

And that is why I love Brad.

He is serious, fun, seriously fun, never takes me too seriously. That is a smart man.

Oh yeah. We finished the night by renting Baby Mama.

Oh my lands alive, it is hysterical. We saw it in the theater with some friends and a packed house full of high-schoolers.

Let me just say that those of us who've actually given birth laughed a million times harder than the sophomore cheerleading squad who've never had the Rebel Force invade their bodies.

I think it was even funnier the second time. If that is possible. 

So here is the moral of the story: I love being married and I love lame dates. 

So does Brad. 

Perfect.