Where I can’t remember the funny that was said

The bad thing about blogging about going on a date a week ago is I can’t remember what I wore. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t sweats or those maternity yoga pants that the crotch is one good stair climb from giving out on. I mean really, I should just give them up, they are maternity and I’m not, nor have I been recently, nor will I be again, pregnant. But they are so comfy and they don’t get all judgy and up in my face when I’m having a fat day. They are also the perfect weight to sleep in, you know, for the nights I need to sleep with pants on, like when my kids have a sleepover. I feel that’s just the grownup thing to do.

But yeah, I didn’t wear them, thankfully.

I do remember what we did though.

We ate at a place called Tokyo sushi, which by the name would make you think it was Japanese. But if you thought that my friend, you would be sorely wrong. It was Korean. Didn’t see that coming did you.

Matt and I dined on a shared appetizer of salmon skin, squid bul go gi, and a tray of sushi, pretty much heaven in the form of food. I was brave and ate mackerel, which I’ve never had in sushi form. I’m pretty much having a love affair with it now, and looking for ways to slip out and spend some time, gorging my face on it.

There was plumb wine and warm sake, and everything was delicious.

There was also shopping, Old Navy and Target.  And hot tea at a local coffee shop.

We talked about both of our goals to look better and spend more time on ourselves. Even though that is crazy hard with four kids. I mean right now I sit here typing this with my head cocked to one side, and a knot the size of a date in my neck that I’ve been trying to work out for two days now. It’s made driving really fun. I mean it’s fine, until I have to back up, or look to the left to switch lanes, or make a turn. I can’t find the time to work in taking an ibuprofen, much less seeing a chiropractor or get a massage. But I’m spending time doing things like not just throwing on the same old pair of jeans, the first shirt I come across and calling myself dressed because I put a bra on. I’m making an effort to try new things, new trends, wear jewelry, layer, and be creative, and so is Matt.

He reads men’s fashion blogs, and I’ve gotten him hooked on thrifting after a couple Brooks Brothers sport coat finds, vintage wing tips, and a $160 tie score for $1.99. It’s really nice to have a spouse who makes an attempt to look nice for me, so I should only return the favor. Even if that means I have to wear clothes that sometimes get all up in my bidness and get all judgmental about my eating habits.

So yeah, the date. I know there were funny things said, things I’d planned to write here, but honestly, it all fades away in comparison to just spending time with the person I love. That and the fact that I never remember to write anything down in the moleskin I carry around with me. Damn it.

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