(To catch up on last month’s Oh God, At Least We Tried date, clickyroo here.)
Back in the day, I went on a date with a boy.
He was sweet and funny and just awesome to be around. We held hands across a sparkly shellacked table. And it was one of those dates where both parties were just giddy with the potential potential, you know? I ordered a special pizzadilla (eggplant, caramelized onion, and goat cheese quesadilla pizza), and he ordered a mocha malt. And I’m pretty sure we sat there for hours, just laughing and staring and annoying the bejeebers out of the waitstaff.
Two nights ago, we went back for a quick meal after the girlies went to bed- and ordered the exact same meal at the PickMeUp Cafe. (Which just so happens to be the same meal we’ve been ordering from them over the past near-decade.)
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It was really good.
And, in deference to the fact that we are no longer obnoxious young twentysomethings (and also due to the fact that we were gonna catch a movie within the half hour), we jetted pretty quickly. And tipped well. And played a bunch of songs on the jukebox. And held hands across a sparkly shellacked table.
Next stop was the Music Box Theatre to take in one of their featured French film festival selections. Now, without giving anything away, the flick we saw was awesome. And hilarious. And then really, really, tragically sad. Out of nowhere. (Come on, The French!)
But there was popcorn, and a classy old theater, and projected clouds across a dark ceiling which twinkled with star lights, and a boy.
A boy who held my hand.
And made me feel giddy.
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