Sunday, February 24, 2013

We'll Show You A Good Time

We pulled into my Mom and Dad's drive on Friday night and as usual, I had the weekend planned. And as usual, the "plans" included a whole lot of doing almost nothing.

In OH for the weekend. Packed pajamas, one change of clothes, and 6 books. #priorities - FPFG via Twitter

I would read, loll, and only look presentable when it was mandatory. I would get some important work done and sleep my brains out.

Now it's Sunday night, we're back home, and  I have to tell you, the weekend got away from me.

I finished one book and started another. Lame.

Then there was our double date.

It's been in the works for months. And, it was our first date with this brave couple. They're newish friends and they're also old, old friends. It's complicated.

But we were all looking forward to it. My beloved La Fiesta was on the docket.

We walked in only to realize that we, uh, couldn't walk in. We couldn't even squeeze past the crowd to put our name in. And what that means is this: My secret love is getting too popular to love me back right. Makes me so mad.

We tried Logan's. Same luck.

We ended up at a pizza place. Pizza! (It was fantastic.) We had so much to talk about including but not limited to: Cory's past as a serial dater (he still denies this), garden variety adoption stuff, really difficult and gritty adoption stuff, parenting pre-schoolers with God complexes, parenting teenagers with teenager complexes, parenting teenagers when they have a girlfriend on Valentine's day...you get the point.

Somewhere around God complexes I noticed that Cory wasn't...engaging. He was completely silent. Teetering on the very fringes of rudeness.

Meanwhile, the other three of us were just warming up.

Cory rallied and muttered something like, "Coffee..." only it sounded like "Kfly" and that's when I remembered that my mom gave him something for a queasy stomach before we left for our Hot Double Date.

The good news? No quease.

The bad news? It was 8:30 and he could barefly keep his eyes open.

The worst news yet? I had zero sympathy. Well, maybe 5. But no more.

We took him to the Tim Horton's and threw a cup of coffee and a Boston Cream at him and situated ourselves right by the fireplace.

I thought he was mostly fixed.

Until I noticed that far-away look in his eye again.

And then...he was gone, folks.

Think this, with about 1,000% less neck support.

So we ignored him and kept on talking. For three more hours.

Every once in a while his lids snapped open and he would say something important about the 5 points of Calvinism or Cher's song "If I Could Turn Back Time" in a near whisper. Dude truly does love that song. But I'll be honest, I had hoped for more.

Short story long, the weekend wasn't what I had planned.

But it may have been better, in its own strange way, if for no other reason than the fact that my mom did a 23-second wheeze from laughing so hard when I replayed the ill-fated double date.

This right here is the story of my life, and probably yours, only yours hopefully enjoys fewer awkward Cher moments.

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