So I tell Wayne, le husband, a few days ago that we are going on a date Saturday night (tonight). He’s in agreement. Where do I want to go? What do we want to eat? So far, so good.
Date night occurs very rarely. Mainly because:
1. Hockey Night in Canada is on Saturday nights.
2. We’re both tired on Saturday nights.
3. Usually we have a few extra kids kicking around the house for sleepovers and playdates.
4. What do we do with the kids? Do they take care of themselves? We have a 14, 12, 10, and 6 year old. Technically the 14 and 12 year olds are old enough to care for the 10 and 6 year olds. But the 10 and 6 year olds are more responsable than the 14 and 12 year olds. So do we leave them? Do we trust the 12 year old won’t decide to build a fire? What if the 14 year old decides to make toast? What if he burns himself? Will the 6 year old know where the First Aid kit is? Cross our fingers that nothing will happen that will put the 10 year old in the position of having to perform CPR on the 12 year old.
5. And quite honestly, what are we going to talk about for two hours just the two of us? The kids? Household chores?
This afternoon, moments before I’m going to leave the house to get my hair done for “Date Night” (’cause seriously, it’s big event, like bi-yearly, maybe less) I ask Wayne what time he wants to leave for the restaurant.
Wayne: The restaurant? Why?
Me: Date night.
Wayne: What? Why are we having date night? ~looking panic stricken~
Me: We already decided this earlier during the week. I’m not taking you for a root canal. It’s a meal. In a restaurant.
Wayne: ~looking hang-dog~ Oh, alright. It’s just that there’s a soccer game on tonight.
But we do make it out the door. Of course, our plans gets slightly displaced by the 12 year old’s plans: he needs a drive because he’s been invited to a birthday party on the other side of the city from where we had wanted to go for supper.
That’s ok. We’ll try a different restaurant.
So we drop the kid off. We’re driving around. We’re both hungry because neither one of us had a lot to eat in anticipation of our favourite meals at our favourite restaurant. But there seems to be nothing at this end of town. Wayne throws Joey’s Fish and Chips out there, which I don’t acknowledge. I mention that maybe there’s a sushi place on the next street, which he doesn’t acknowledge. And now it’s too late to go to our favourite restaurant on the other side of town because it’s after 6, we don’t have reservations, and we’re both too famished to wait until 8 o’clock for a table.
We see a place called “The Wok Box,” which seems to excite Wayne, and I’m starving, so we pull in. It’s basically fast-food rice bowls, but you know what, it was good, and they had all-you-can-drink fountain drinks so that makes me happy. Unlimited Diet Pepsi is always a plus in my books.
This is what happens at dinner: Wayne eats. I talk. And talk. And talk. And talk. I love the sound of my own voice. And I love that Wayne just sits there. Eating. We’re a match made in heaven. But there’s only so much I can talk about (I know, shocking, right). And when Wayne does decide to pipe up, I zone out, because honestly, who cares how it’s decided which country will play which during the World Cup.
Because it took us all of 15 minutes to order our food (at the counter), receive our food, and eat our food, it is now 6:15. We’re like: that’s it? We’re done? We have to go back home now and put the kids to bed… not even put them to bed, it’s only 6 fricken 15.
Let’s go to a movie! Let’s go see “Knight and Day” with Cameron Diaz and Tom Cruise. I know Tom lost his sex appeal to many women out there when he started spouting off about scientologic hoohaw. But when I see him on the big screen, my heart still goes pitter-pat. I’m brought back to the same feelings I had when I was 16 years old and first saw his crooked front teeth in “Top Gun.” At one point during the movie tonight, I actually had to wipe the drool from my chin. My only disappointment is that there was no dirty sex scene. Not even a tongue kiss. I guess Katie has strick orders that her man is not to roll around wearing nothing but a Speedo while Cameron wears nothing but pasties. Damn.
Despite our bumpy start, it was a good date night. I got some new fantasizing material, and Wayne walked out of there feeling all secret-agent-man-like, being all fancy with the remote car starter, and driving home with the jeep in standard instead of automatic so he could shift gears and zoom in and out of traffic. He even unlocked my door.
We walk back into the house, assume our regular posts: he on the couch and me in the bedroom cuddled up to my laptop. I’m sure the next time we have Date Night I’ll be wearing winter boots and a parka, but for now, I’m good.