Disclaimer: No marriages were harmed in composing this post.
Date night! What to wear?
I wouldn’t doll up much. Formals are nice and all, but this was a regular ol’ local date, not some big snazzy do in Dallas.
After all, we were going to eat hamburgers and then go sit in a dark theater juggling Junior Mints and a soft drink. “Casual” would be the wise choice. On the other hand, I didn’t want to look like the end of a 40-mile bike ride in June.
The trick was to shower and get myself reasonably groomed without going full-opera. You know, normal clothes, a bit of makeup. Earrings, if I can remember to wear them. I’d say the result looked fairly nice.
Let’s go with “moderately spiffy.”
After dinner, we parked near the theater and walked toward it. When Brent offered his arm in his best “escort” manner, I hooked my hand around his elbow. He looked at me, his eyes lighting up with love. *
Brent: “Well, I’m with some arm candy tonight.”
Me: Yesss! I’ve nailed the outfit. >Fluffs hair, minces along in a prissy fashion.<
Brent: >Pulls long face< “Too bad it’s Sour Punch…”
There, you see what I put up with?
Lines like these are so sudden and so funny, I don’t even have time to pretend to be mad.
Full disclosure: Brent did get his Punch, but it wasn’t nearly as Sour as it might have been.
Thanks for reading,
* I guess that was impishness in his eyes after all.