Heidi and I are children oriented people. We have children, we love children, heck, we *collect* children. We are a family of sippy cups, goldfish crackers, Baby Einstein videos, and developmentally-appropriate interactive toys. Our TVs are tuned to Cartoon Network, Nickelodeon, and Disney more than every other channel combined. Our mini-van has three carseats and enough cracker crumbs in the cushions to bread three dozen chickens.
That’s what made last night’s outing such a treat. We had our anniversary dinner at Aries. This was serious Adult Entertainment. No, Aries is not a strip joint. The only dollar bills we slipped to anyone went to the valet. But it was scandalously indulgent, wildly decadent, preposterously kid-unfriendly dining.
We took several hours. We had quiet conversation. We had silence. We sat still. We took small bites and used the correct fork. We ordered one course at a time. I ordered the Foie Gras and a nice Austrian Riesling. It was enough to set the average kid to screaming inside of three minutes.
I have this personal theory that small children like TV programs such as Teletubbies and Barney because, like with teens and their rebellious music, they know it drives their parents nuts. It’s theirs and theirs alone. That’s how I felt last night, only in reverse. Sure we pulled up in a minivan, and yes, I was wearing a suit that cost less than the other patrons’ neckties. It was obvious that we were suburban frumps playing dress-up, but I didn’t care a bit. This was *our* night, just for us adults. No kids allowed.
So I find myself this morning listening to my James Tenney CD, wistfully remembering our adults-only dining experience by listening to adults-only music. It seems fitting.