Adventures without Spawn

No, it's not the title of the latest horror flick...it's just my new term for "Date Night." Friday afternoon we dropped the girls off at the in-laws and a full 24 hours of freedom ensued. And I realized I couldn't remember the last time we were alone.

The romance began with our first stop at a small engine shop for some weed-whacker supplies. I sat in the car.

We then drove to Newport, NH, to Salt Hill Pub. I'd been there a time or two, but it was hubby's first experience. He had onion rings (I stole one), some tender still-moo-ing cow, corn on the cob, and fries. I had the portabella burger on marble rye, and fries (with malt vinegar, salt and ketchup - yum!) I spent our dinner pondering our waitress, as she looked like somebody I worked with almost 20 years ago...but later found out from a fellow past coworker that she wasn't who I thought she was, unless she changed her name (hmm...left eyebrow raised...veeeery suspicious...) Upon finishing our meal, hubby dumped his bowl of au jus in the crotch of his black Carhartts. The good wife bit her lip and repressed the giggles until the situation was fully assessed. Then the "junk au jus" lines and threats and promises of late-night au jus removal started flying. All in all, a great meal and when we walked out, hubby asked when we were coming back.

From there we stopped at Lowe's, as apparently a date that did not include a stroll through The Home Depot or the like would simply be faux pas. I know for fact we're not alone in this ritual. So, I dutifully followed the man through the counter tops, the lumber, the ratchets, the sanders, the toolboxes ("but this one has a fridge and stereo in it, baby!!!") until I felt the urge to use the ladies room (whether the urge was from testosterone overload-inspired boredom or from the iced tea I had at Salt Hill is up for debate). Our Lowe's is brand new, the restroom fairly pristine. Out of habit, I chose the first stall. The first stall, according to reports, is the cleanest of stalls since it's supposedly the least used. In this instance, I think the studies were accurate if only for the fact that the lock did not lock. The mechanisms were at least half an inch out of line of where they were supposed to be. I've witnessed this phenomenon before, and I think the word "phenomenon" is apropos considering that a stall door really only has two simple functions: To be low enough to hide the goods (am I the only one who has pottying-in-public nightmares?), and to stay closed. It's really too bad that Lowe's couldn't find a yard stick or measuring tape to make sure the two lock pieces lined up. Perhaps they should've walked over to The Home Depot.

In many ways, my husband has achieved sainthood over the last 18 years of sharing my company. I'd like to think it's due to my influence, but really he's just a good guy. For example: What other man would follow his label-scrutinizing, price-comparing woman around, without complaint for over two hours, through the freak show atmosphere that really only Market Basket and Walmart can provide? Yeah, that's my man. We also ran into Hannaford, where said woman was completely ecstatic to find a few items she hadn't been able to find anywhere else. He didn't necessarily share in her delight, but he didn't complain or even roll his eyes. Points were handed out (remember the au jus?)

Saturday morning I had to work for a few hours and then ran some errands, while hubby ran his own. Then we reconvened on his motorcycle in the early afternoon - our first ride of the season together. We've had the bike 6 years now, and I spent at least the first 4 fearing for our safety, or I should say, fearing for our children who would, I was certain, be orphaned before I could get my hair-flattening helmet back off. However, something in my nature clicked last summer...I lost (most) of my fear and am now able to ride with enjoyment. I still don't like how my husband drives close to the yellow line. He says it's to avoid deer and oil slicks. But frankly, I'd rather die by way of a confused deer coming out from the bushes than by some 17-yr-old twit texting her BFF. But that's just me. Other than that, I'm pretty carefree now, and I get to take in all the scenery. Yesterday, my eyes beheld shin-high corn fields, "strawberry supper" signs in front of churches (and really, it left me wondering what they actually serve for the entree - hopefully there is no malt vinegar or ketchup involved), and scanning the hillsides and trees for hot air balloons lifting out of Quechee. My mind also wanders. It's quite therapeutic, really - much like going for a walk or a run, only without all the sweat.

We stopped in at hubby's cousin's house and had a good catch-up with him and his sweet and sassy son, before heading back home...to the inevitability that was picking up the spawn and bringing them home. Truth be told, I missed them a little. Date nights are awesome, I'll get no argument there; but there must be a reason I can't remember the last one we had. It could be because the grandparents don't offer to watch them as often as when they were cute little toddlers...or maybe we're just too busy to plan ahead...or maybe we just like to keep our would-be orphans with us because we just plain enjoy their company (when they aren't raising our blood pressure with their bickering) and want to share our worlds with them...unsafe stalls, freak shows, and all.