Saturday, August 12, 2006

Worst. Date. Ever.

Not that I'm complaining. In fact, it's probably not the worst date I've ever been on, but certainly the worst I've ever planned. But, we can't blame the blond hunk for this. In fact, he is the victim here, more than me.

We started the evening with an attempt to give blood. Serve the community. Share our life force in a meaningful way. Ya, so they rejected us. Both. Not for anything too colorful. Apparently our last vacation took us to malaria-infested jungles.

So, we took our letters of deferment and our shameful, possibly malarial blood and slunk out of the church multipurpose room. That's ok, we said. They're just jealous. Let's go get some dinner.

So we went to Carl's Jr. for artery-clogging pastrami burgers. Well, just one. I got the chicken club. It wasn't bad. Service was slow, though, and we both thought we heard a grease fire in the back.

And how did we finish off this festival of lameness? I had a few things to buy at Wal-mart. So we stopped there. And they didn't even have everything we needed! No texas toast (how can Wal-mart not carry this? They carry GRITS for crying out loud), no plain muffin papers (I don't want the character 50 for $2 kind) and no 20-oz bottles of the Code Red. Only 2 liters. At a lousy price, I might add. Gosh!

And then the blond hunk starts to say those fateful words: "I don't feel that good." CURSE YOU, CARL'S JR!

In the checkout line I did see some neat earrings--picture for you, Sassy:


We came home, realized we didn't have any cash to pay the babysitter. Gave her an IOU and a trip home, and played computer games until BH was too sick to play. Then I went to bed and he stayed up half the night puking.

Worst. Date. Ever.

My only consolation is at least we're married and I'm not worried he'll never want to see me again. I know where the placentas are buried and we still have a potty training to finish. He can't leave me now. Seriously, we still had fun (up until the severe cramps and nausea, anyway) and got out together. And he'll recover. He's tough that way.

Posted by Sarah Jean :: 7:04 AM :: 1 Comments:

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