Maybe once or twice a month we would employ our social and cultural understanding of casually dressing up for a night on the town.
Sometimes dinner and a movie. Sometimes just dinner.
Mostly Italian. But sometimes French and occasionally Indian.
I carry many savory memories of expensive dinners in romantic locations. Bottles of wine selected from the lower third of robust lists.
Coffee and desert.
It has been a while. I will be the first to admit that I miss it. Looking across a white linen tablecloth, ruby red Chianti in a perfectly weighted glass in hand, into the eyes of the person sitting directly opposite to share a toast to us. Here is to us, clink.
It has been too long.
But tonight, in a few hours, I have a dinner date with a pretty girl who I have admired for a long time. I was given a gift certificate for a fancy restaurant in Seattle where we used to visit for its ambiance and Mediterranean menu years ago. It is warm and cozy as I recall with a huge open oven and cozy leather booths. So it will be kind of free. Meaning I might splurge on the wine or roasted brussels sprouts or some decadent desert for two.
Yesterday I asked her, tepidly, if she might like to have dinner with me. When she answered, quickly to the positive I almost melted on the spot. And now the time is at hand to prepare.
This should be fun, interesting at the least.
What used to be a common occurrence is now such a rarity that I am not sure where to begin.
Oh yeah. A shower.
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