Monday evening, my mom and Mark offered to feed our kids pizza and let them watch a movie and ensure they didn't engage in the cannibalistic behavior peculiar to siblings so that Derek and I could go on a date to celebrate his birthday.
We started by going to Star Wars, which we had heard was amazing and fantastic and must-see! We both thought it was fine. Honestly, I know better than to let my expectations for just about anything get inflated, because no good, no good I tell you can come of it. For those of you who have seen it: Is it just Common Household Mom and me, or is Rey SURELY related to Keira Knightley? Looks, certain mannerisms, everything. Google was no help in backing my theory (when it comes to my theories, I am absolutely anti-scientific method, in that I will form my theory that I KNOW IS RIGHT and then look for evidence to support it. Which means it's time for me to go on Oprah, write a sensational book, and form a cult-like following of people who believe anything if you say it loudly enough. Right, so now I'm just making myself angry.), but I certainly think it's time for Ms. Knightley to start asking her parents some tough questions.
When we left the theater and trudged through the snow, Derek and I both naturally headed for his car. I had opened the passenger door and was halfway inside when Derek said with a certain amount of feeling, "Please don't get into that car." Because it turns out it wasn't his car. It did look silvery-blue in the moonlight, however, so... close enough?
Evidently Derek had seen that I was headed for the wrong car, but assumed the door would be locked, then panicked a bit when it opened right up for me and I began to climb in. We both wonder how long it would have taken me to realize I was in a stranger's vehicle. Probably best we didn't find out. You know that scene in The Bourne Identity when Jason Bourne is telling Marie all the things he automatically observed upon entering the diner: The vehicles in the parking lot, the various people inside, something about running at that altitude until his hands start shaking? I'm like the anti-that. I do a marvelous impression of someone wandering confused around parking lots, though, except it's not so much an impression as my actual life.
After we were ensconced in the correct car, we went out and ate matching salads at a favorite restaurant because we are just adorable that way, except it's not so sweet when Derek eats his whole meal in a quarter of the time it takes me to eat half a plateful. He is a speedy eater, and I am a slothful eater, which means Husband has a lot of downtime when we go out to eat. They need special Fast-Eating Husband activities at restaurants, like those coloring packets they make for squirmy kids. I don't know what it would include, though. Maybe Slow-Eating Wife Bingo? With spaces to cover for things like "Wife chewed piece of lettuce twenty times before swallowing," and "Wife wouldn't touch chicken until barbecue sauce arrived." Happy Birthday to Derek, indeed.