As loyal readers know, we were down to only one kid yesterday, which is the closest we will get to date night for a little longer, due to me being, um, a control freak who cannot imagine leaving her three month old with anybody in the evening. Ahem.
So, after a delightful chair massage AND manicure (oh, customer appreciation days are wonderful things), I returned home and told Paul that We. Were. Getting. Indian. Food. The only Indian restaurant close to home burnt down four years ago, so if I really wanted naan and chicken pikka, it meant a drive over the bridge to St. Mary's county. But, since it was just the baby, how hard could it be?
The clouds were dark and heavy and omnious. It reminded me of "The Nothing" from that bad children's flick from the eighties, The Neverending Story. The rain pounded down in sheets as we crossed the 150 foot bridge over the Patuxent River (which has protective panels on every part of it except for the highest, most dangerous part). Paul, who is pretty unflappable, told me to turn the "Damn music off," as we inched over the water. Joel, of course, is fussing in his car seat.
We get to the restaurant, called Bollywood Masala. We are greeted by a cute little girl, who is probably about eight years old. She seats us, gives us menus. How Cute, I think. She must like helping out. But, she continues to help us---and bus tables, and sweep the floors, and pick up stray ice cubes off the floor. I make a mental note to look up Maryland's child labor laws.
We order our food, and then, as if on cue, Joel decides that he is done sitting in his car seat, sucking on his plastic rings. For the next twenty minutes, Paul and I take turns making goo-goo faces at the baby, while the other one drinks water and eats naan as quickly as possible. Joel's happiness turns to fuss, and we know what this means. You have to know when to hold 'em, and when to fold 'em, and unless we want all of Bollywood to witness Joel's histrionics, it's time to make a hasty departure.
I summon the eight year old, who was probably about to restock the walk-in, and request that our meals become "to go." Paul loads up Joel, I pay, and we return home, warm Indian food in hand.
We eat the food (by the way, delicious). After I'm done, Paul says, "I hope that spicy food doesn't keep Joel up all night." Thanks for mentioning that after the fact, buddy. But, reminding me why I love him so much, he says, "You better drink a big glass of wine to counteract the effects." Ah...breastfeeding the second time around is so much better.
We put Joel to bed, I drink my wine, and we settle down to watch The Break Up on TNT (you know--"A New Classic.") Funnier than you would think---and an opportunity for Paul and I to talk, relax, remember what good friends we are.
All in all, it was a wonderful date night.