So last night my husband and I went to our favorite restaurant for dinner because my parents took our kids to the ballet. Hey, better them than me, I figure. I got a cosmopolitan because it is delicious and because it's pink it makes me think that I'm not drinking hard liquor.
While we were wining and dining and got the usual "how was your day, dear"s out of the way, I decided that it would be fun to reminisce about the good ole days of when we dated and the Dates Of Horror that we had. One date that I remembered was dinner at the Savoy Restaurant which friends of ours raved about and where we had a horrific fight. I couldn't remember what the fight was about, but Husbandrinka reassured me that he did. According to him, we were having a romantical dinner and he was sharing great wisdom with me and I kept saying "What?" and he thought that I wasn't paying attention to him and he told me that and I stormed out of the restaurant and he had Dilemma because on the one hand, I was insane, but on the other hand, it was my birthday, and we were drinking champagne, so perhaps things ought to be more festive and less "go to hell!".
I don't know. I remember it slightly differently. I don't remember storming out of the restaurant and I don't remember it being my birthday and I have vague recollections of it being all his fault, but the details are hazy. The good thing is that we both remember that I had PMS.
And the crazy thing is that even though I remember crying my eyes out that night and thinking that pre-Husbandrinka was the most insensitive man ever, now, remembering the early 1990s in NYC makes me so nostalgic for the way we were, I am thisclose to getting a soundtrack.
Or maybe it's just the wine talking.