Date Night Fail

In an effort to do something other than sprawl across my bed flipping through channels and blogs at the same time (thank you wireless internet gods) I asked Kevin for a date night.

With the in-laws right in town, we could *theoretically* have a date night every week. No babysitting fees! No worries! Does it ever happen? Nope. At least, it's never scheduled enough in advance that Kevin and I could go out and do something special. Take last night for example.

When he called on his way home from work, I suggested we go out. Alone. Because honestly? I'm dilated to 1 cm and have cramps. This baby could be here tomorrow or 3 weeks from now, and then date nights will cease to exist until the kid is 2.

Elizabeth went happily to Grandma's house while Kevin and I looked at each other with the, "Where do you want to eat?" question.

I hate the "Where do you want to eat?" question. It's fine when you're dating. Then it's all fun and carefree and you can say, "Grossly expensive local restaurant with cloth napkins!" and you both look at each other like, "YES! Overpriced food is awesome! We'll blow $60 on dinner and then go back to the apartment and have sex three times in one night! Luuurrrrvvvveee you!"

When you're married? Picking a restaurant is like navigating the Titanic through the North Atlantic. Grossly expensive place? Is it a birthday/anniversary/I got a raise! special occasion? Well, then, forget THAT. Chili's? Gawd. There will be tables full of screaming kids and music blaring while we yell at each other across sticky tables. No thanks. Steakhouse? It's Friday night! We'll spend all night waiting for a table. Yes, let's waste our whole kid-free night sitting on a bench surrounded by peanut shells, waiting for a beeper to go off! Fast food? How is THAT a date night?!? What's next? A slurpy from the Quicky Mart?

See? It sucks.

We tried Texas Roadhouse (because I wanted to eat the whole bread basket for my dinner). 40 minute wait. We left.

We tried Applebees...people were lined up clear around the building holding beepers and looking miserable. We drove away.

Tried Chili's. We drove around the parking lot and couldn't even find a spot.

Now we're getting pissed--and really hungry. And I'm getting car sick from peeling around parking lots.

Dingbats! (It's a local place.) After being seated at a crappy table by the drink refill/dirty dish station on plastic lawn chairs and looking over the stained menu ($10.99 for an appetizer sampler? WTF?!?!) we rolled our eyes and walked out. The waitress--who must have been on an extra long smoke break--didn't even notice.

Back to the Texas Roadhouse. It's 7:00 now, the line must have gone down. And damn it, I really want that bread.

Ha! NOW IT'S A 60 MINUTE WAIT.

I turned to Kevin and said, "That's it! We're eating at the damn food court in the mall. I'm not driving anywhere else!"

So we gagged down really gross fries and a sub from Charley's Steakery and paid over $9 for it. And? High school brats with no driver's license and no where else to go on a Friday night entertained us by jumping from table to table around the food court and screaming "Fuck! hahahaha!" until mall cops made them leave.

Our last date night before baby? Massive fail.