Thursday, July 01, 2004

Date Night

Red and I have an interesting relationship. “Interesting,” I say because of the unavoidable fact that I am nothing but an egregious asshole, parading as corpulent man-flesh. To overcome my lesser qualities, which include such nefarious items as “never being there,” “drinking everything in the house including all the aftershave,” and “being a cold, cold robot of a man with a stone for a heart and a featureless, emotionless mask for a face,” Red has taken to devising new and interesting, relationship building, activities.

Some of these activities are:

1. Getting Married. Like that ever works.
2. Spending More Time at Home. Which just means I don’t have to worry about driving.
3. Having Sex in Positions that don’t necessarily allow us both to watch the latest episode of Law & Order.
4. Talking about Stuff.
5. Date Night.

Most of those are self explanatory. But “what,” you ask, “is date night?”

I’ll tell you.

Date night is one night a week when I quit working, put down my fifth cocktail (and I don’t mean after I’ve had four. I mean the cocktails I drink straight out of the bottle), and spend some QT with my cutie. (God I’m funny).

We’ve been having “date night” for a couple of months now, and I think that it is going incredibly well. I have carefully planned and executed each and every date to create the maximum amount of quality time, all the while being a romantic devil, and a good husband-to-be. I am, after all, the drinking man’s Don Juan. For your enjoyment, and maybe to help you put a little spice in your own love life, here is the rundown of date nights so far.

Week 1: Had to get off to a good start. I cancelled.

Week 2: Called at the last minute to change the day because I had important customers in town. Cancelled the next day.

Week 3: Couldn’t come up with a good excuse. Faked my own death.

Week 4: First actual date night. I misunderstood the concept, and spent the evening boning her best friend.

Week 5: Finally got it. Candlelight, champagne, a chick-flick, and a home-made, tableside Caesar salad. Nothing says love like fire, booze, lesbo-porn, and ground up anchovies and raw egg over lettuce.

Week 6: Last night, I got home about 5:30, and I took Red out to a local microbrew. We split a pitcher of dark beer, and ate some rather good meals. The evening was going well, and we were having fun. We were really enjoying each other’s company, and I was convinced that maybe we’d get to play a quick game of “hide the sausage” before Letterman came on.

Then the Ukrainians showed up.

How am I going to top this next week?

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