Priceless

Jen's birthday present to me for the past two years has been a night of babysitting. That's pretty much cemented her sainthood status in my book.

E and I don't get out. To an almost freakish degree.

The boy's approaching kindergarten age – and we've never hired a babysitter. Thus far it's been only friends and family and I'm not sure how eager we are to change that. Lord knows we need to get out on our own, but increasing the number of people who are paid to hang out with my kids is not something I look forward to.

Nor is trusting their lives to some teenager I barely know.

But Jen's offer allows me to sidestep that larger discussion once again and enjoy an evening with E. It's probably the most obvious thing in the world to say, but children are a great way to not have conversation with other adults.

In our most recent gathering of friends – I barely got any discussion time with out of town friends I haven’t seen for a year. Get the boy off the computer, settle this or that squabble, keep them out of the basement, etc.

What talk that does happen centers around the kids to the point where I'm convinced I am the least interesting person on the face of the planet. Mind you, this is with people who are making an effort to come over and chat with me.

So the person that I live with – spend practically every waking moment at home with - gets this all the time.

An embarrassing amount of time can pass without E and I having a real conversation.

So going out is a colossally big deal. And E and I are seriously out of practice. A few weeks ago one of our kid's teachers generously offered to have our kids over for an evening and E and I fumbled our way through dinner and killing time. Honestly, we could have been back to pick up the kids in a hour, but we figured we should walk around the restaurant for awhile just so our teacher doesn't think we're freaks.

And conversation is hard – there are so many things we have to do. Household and kid logistics are the easy subjects – but there's a reason there's a backlog. They're bummers. Stuff you avoid most nights becomes more annoying when you bring it up on your one night out.

Last time out was like that – this time, I'd vowed to do things differently.

And I did. This time, I completely forgot about it.

Right up until E asked me about dinner reservations for the evening.

Huh, what's this evening?

Fail.

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E's been jonesing to go to this new taproom. Predictably, they're closed for dinner – so we're on to plan B.

Plan B fails in turn, so we book reservations for an Italian place we've done before. First time I was there, I had what was arguably the best pasta dish I've had in my life: a shrimp puttanesca that ignited my enduring love for that sauce.

The second time, I ordered an orichetta dish with rapini that was the worst dish I've ever paid top dollar for. It was unbelievably bitter – to the point where I should have just sent it back. But I didn't. Why? I've asked myself that dozens of times. No idea.

Not this time. The way I see it, these people owe me a meal.

We beat the dinner rush, so the place is almost deserted. I'm wondering if this place is hurting since the economy has everyone spending defensively.

Coffee, wine.

I see the rapini dish is still on the menu. If it was always as bad as the stuff I had, it would have left the menu by now. I should have sent it back.

E and I chat about the menu – and how odd it is to be out. We each opt for a half order of pasta followed by an entrée. With our kitchen remodel/landscaping biting huge chunks out of our finances – I'm doing the Visa ad in my head as I scan the (entirely a la carte) menu.

Pizza for the Jen and the kids: $40.

Drinks: $15

Pasta courses: $20

-I'm not even at the entrées and I'm feeling remorseful.

I focus on the Visa tagline: enjoying a free evening with your spouse...

Yes, dammit – we've earned an evening out. And there's no way we're going to cheap out.

Entirely.

I'll get pasta and a NY strip, but no dessert (so there!). We order and E and I try to shake off our perpetual kid-induced funk and be ourselves.

About the time I think we'll fail at this – our table explodes.

Seriously. A full on detonation of something in the middle of our table.

Completely against my will, I scream: "Whoa!!!"

Reality reasserts itself. E and I and are sitting in our booth. Our table is strewn with fat chunks of broken glass. The working part of my memory informs me that something has fallen on our table.

Judging by the horrified expression of a waitress next to us – she made this happen.

Apparently, she was walking by with something held high overhead – which collided with the lamp above our booth. As heavy lamp fixtures everywhere do, it plummeted straight down into the middle of our table.

We take stock. No obvious injuries. E and I feel fine, but we're covered with glass.

Our water glasses have been obliterated. Most of the lamp's remains are in the middle of the table – our wine glasses have survived to hold the rest of it.

The bartender is at us in an instant with a garbage can and towels. He says (loud enough for the waitress to hear) Well, THAT'S a first in my bartending experience.

We clear out of our booth while our server starts with Are you okay? are you shaken up?


Honestly, we feel fine. We hit the bathroom to shake off the bits of glass and check for injuries – no cuts or marks.

They've prepared a new booth for us, it's got fresh wine, water and coffee. Our server is asking us again Are you okay?

I have two simultaneous responses to this:

Verbal: I didn't have my mouth open, so I'm good.

Mental: Guess I'm orderin' dessert!

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Having a light fixture almost land on you does wonders for the dining experience. I recommend trying it when you can.

The service is faster, the food is lovingly and artistically presented - and you are regularly visited by waitstaff who assure you that everything is on the house.

And- broken glass is a great icebreaker. E and I forgot house logistics and headaches and enjoyed each other's company for the rest of the meal. E's risotto was great – I loved my steak. I savored it, as opposed to my usual method of inhalation.

And yes, dessert. Tirimisu and chocolate gateau with cranberry ice cream.

Better still, coffee with E and the time to enjoy both.

Yeah, today it's back to the grind. The contractor's coming by to see if the ant damage to our house is structural. I'm reading ominous corporate memos about cost cutting measures – and open enrollment is up soon for my annual benefit renewal---

But screw that. I'm smiling thinking of having a great night out with E.

We gotta do that more often.