The ban

[This is the post I was writing when my nanny called to quit. In case you care.] 

In an effort to create stimulating conversation with my husband and expedite my recovery from a blogging overdose, I came up with a crafty plan for “date night” last weekend.  My husband had taken the first step to actually book us a reservation well in advance of the night (Outlook e-mail invite included.)  While I appreciated his proactiveness, I knew that if I didn’t think ahead as well, we’d spend our one night out alone in two weeks mulling over the usual: job, kid, money.

I don’t think so. I wanted this night to be special, even if it was just a regular date.  We were going to our favorite sushi joint, and I didn’t want to sip my apple martini rehashing how junior ate two (TWO!) whole veggie bites for dinner.  And then made #2.  Spicy kani rolls are tasty, but not when you have an image of a large load in your mind.  You get my point.

So I made a list of some things I wanted to discuss over dinner and told my husband he had to do the same.  Of course, there were rules to our conversational engagement.  My main conversation ban was that we couldn’t talk about our son.  Not at all. His main rule was that we couldn’t talk about how I was going to spend any money.  Touche. 

We were off.

So what happened?

My husband actually started telling me things that were going on at work that I hadn’t heard about in awhile.  I lamented the misfortune of my manicurist (don’t laugh!) and her desperation to visit her daughter who she hasn’t seen in 5 years.  We talked some current events (I won’t bore you with details) and made fun of the lady sitting next to us with the REALLY LOUD VOICE.  By then, I was two drinks in and our rolls arrived.

And we all know it’s impossible to talk with your mouth full of sushi.  Mission accomplished.