It was a legendary week.
Two dates in six days. BOOOOM.
I don't know why, but I always want to blog about our dates. It feels important. Significant, even.
Life-changing? Paradigm-shifting? Perhaps.
They return me to my soul and my sanity, that's all. No big deal.
I have noticed some patterns emerging in recent years.
It's normal for dates to involve food, but do most dates involve naps? The good ones do.
Date Day: Saturday
Then we weren't miserably full, so we grabbed kiddie scoops of Ritters Custard (Red Raspberry and Heath, split down their middles).
We talked about seeing a movie, ended up at our favorite divey park (the one where you found out I'm secretly all ripped and shredded), read a few pages in our books...and promptly fell asleep under a shade tree. Just like last time.
We roused ourselves in time for a splurgey dinner at Olive Garden.
So basically, eat, eat, sleep, eat.
Date Night: Thursday
We've already clarified that I have no interest in trying to appear cool, yes?
Well, I love Phillips Craig and Dean.
Or, as I like to call them: Bill Murray, Rick Warren, and Cory's Former Boss.
I promise you know some of their songs. This is my favorite. No, this. This. Whatever. They're all good. They're the Christian REO Speedwagon, and don't tell me that doesn't entice you.
I'll cut to the chase: I've never felt younger or cooler, and that's saying something. We were in the very back row, which was perfect, because here's something else you need to know about me: I will not stand, clap, or repeat things back on command. Won't do it. That's the hill I've chosen to die on.
So while all our elders stood and clapped around, we parked it and watched the big screen. It was so good and I'm not just saying that because they had chimes.
After 14 years together, I just still really like my guy, beard and all. (Though if I had my druthers...) I like hanging out with him. I like that I can be opinionated and quiet with him. I'm glad that I can wake him up just as he's falling asleep to re-hash something that's already been hashed to death. I like it that he lets me sleep in some Saturdays. I like it that he encourages my salsa habit.
Next concert on our list? Avett Brothers. Or Mumford. It must happen. I don't know. Cory won't shut up about it until it happens. He may have to sell a limb, but Chaplains don't really need two arms, do they?
What's your date routine? Are you weirdos or normal people?
What's the best concert you've ever been to?
I'm full of questions and it's a 3-day weekend.
Lay it on me. Thick.