Date Night Report

And a grand Friday night it was, my friends. The weekend started off with a gigantic bang when D and I, starstruck and gape-jawed in the third row of the DuPont Theatre, beheld Joyce Carol Oates and Salman Rushdie for nearly two hours. My fellow blogger Lisa Coutant interviewed me about the evening, and you can find my answers to her questions here. Thanks, Lisa, for giving me a spot on your entertaining and informative blog.

While you can read the highlights of the panel discussion on Lisa's blog, the rest of the evening was not without merit, as I shall describe forthwith. I decided on a whim that we should have a drink at a restaurant bar, something we have done too seldom since starting our little family almost three years ago. Did I say "too seldom?" I meant "never." So, we capped the brilliant date with champagne martinis* and a chocolate lava souffle at Deep Blue Bar and Grill, while listening to live music and occasionally checking on what we astutely predicted would become a nip-slip of epic proportions. The victim was not I, thank goodness, but a well-endowed blonde across the bar whose right breast for ten minutes doggedly worked itself free from its tiny triangular bond.

And on that illuminating note, I shall end my recounting. Would that all spousal date nights were so entertaining.

*"Martini" is a term that is these days bandied about far too much for my liking, especially when certain drinks so labelled have as little resemblence to the actual article as Jessica Simpson does to Grace Kelly. But I am happy to report that a champagne martini turned out to be not such a bad thing. Delightful, in fact.