Date night
As our First Couple hit the Big Apple for their date night, I was jealous. Why are they able to fit in a regular date night when we’re not?
Of course we don’t have a staff and a live-in mother-in-law, or a plane at our dispoal, but these are just excuses. It’s not just us, most of our friends don’t have regular date nights, either. Maybe that’s one of the reasons our generation is less happy than our parents’.
We are constantly chasing after kids, working, trying to make ends meet, and at the end of the day we just want to crash instead of putting on a dress and heels (that would be me, not Greg) and head to the theater. If you go to any theater or cultural performance around here, the predominant hair color is gray.
Camp David doesn’t cut it as a weekend getaway for the Obamas; I doubt the cooking there is as pure and precious as the Blue Hill’s, where they enjoyed their Manhattan meal and could have easily strived for five just on appetizers. I’m a vegetarian, but this place is even over the top for my taste. The grilled asparagus comes with “cured immature eggs.” I, for one, like my eggs to be mature.
I’m all for local produce, but these farmers are a little too rhapsodic about their rhubarb. I’d like to think that our Commander in Chief eats something more substantial than fiddlehead ferns -– like the occasional pizza and wings -– but I digress.
Back to the topic at hand: How many of you pencil each other in; or rather, type “Date Night” into your Blackberries? Or is your date night just texting each other from different rooms?
Let’s take a poll:
