On Friday I dropped both my kids off for a sleepover at their Nonna's a few hours before Matt got home. When Matt got home and realized that both kids were gone he excitedly said, "This means we get to go on a date!" (He's so cute, isn't he?) Then I said, "If you want to, but I'd really like to get that futon assembled." (I'm so romantic, aren't I?)
We assembled the futon.
Let me explain how we assemble things. I check over the items in the box to make sure they are all there and read over the directions. Matt goes on the computer and plays fantasy sports. I follow all the directions until about step five, at which time I realize that I have screwed up step one and must go back and fix the problem. It has gone down like this since the dawn of time.
So in my read-through, I discover that step two is missing from my directions and call the company and get the missing information. Then I read step one again and then read it once more. I do step one. I check it three times. I am not coming back to this step. I get to step five and find that I have used the wrong bolts in step one. I discovered that I could change the bolts without disassembling the whole thing but it's a tight squeeze so I had to take my wedding rings off to fit my fingers. An hour later we had successfully switched out the bolts and fifteen minutes after that: FUTON! (jazz hands are appropriate here)
Once my portion of the date was assembled, we decided to go check out a local sushi place that Ryan frequents. It seems fair at this time to let you know (on the off chance you haven't already figured it out), I am a total spaz. Especially in new situations in which I've convinced myself that everyone else is comfortable and I'm the only one that has no idea what's going on. See, spaz.
Matt, on the other hand, is not a spaz in these situations and it didn't phase him in the least to holler across the room, "Can I have a fork? I can never work these chopsticks." Then I might have hidden under the table.
As we were looking over our menus, I realized that I had forgotten to put my rings back on, but he was wearing his. To our fellow diners, I was the mistress. The mistress who had whined about how her lover never takes her out of the house. Her whining had earned her a trip to a little sushi shop tucked safely in no man's land so her lover wouldn't get caught by friends. My inner spaz hit fever pitch, and I might have cried a little. But only on the inside.
After dinner we finished off our date night like only a man and his mistress could. We went to a local liquor shop and bought a bottle of Italian wine. Since we are true connoisseurs of wine, we chose our wine based on its name. Chianti Superiore. If you aren't fluent in Italian that second word translates Superior. If this bottle of wine claims superiority over other Chiantis who am I to argue? We took our bottle of wine home, cracked it open and drank superior Chianti while playing a romantic game of Super Mario.
The rest of the date we'll just keep between me and my married man.