Date nights are like unicorns in our house. Mythical creatures that are said to exist elsewhere. Certainly not in our house. Having always lived away from family, we’ve never known life with a built-in babysitter. And it’s been difficult for us to find someone we can trust with our kids (read: we are control freaks). After moving to Boston just two months ago, we were immediately eager to get out and enjoy the city. So we found a sweet college grad, took the plunge, and booked her for an upcoming Friday night.
This, my friends, is where the story takes a turn. May I please give you one piece of advice (ironic coming from a newbie date-nighter). Perhaps this will seem obvious, but here it is: Make a reservation at your restaurant of choice. That’s right — we went to a hot little oyster bar in the North End; you may have heard of it — Neptune Oyster Bar. They don’t take reservations. But being the footloose and fancy free people that we are, we thought we’d risk it and head there anyway. Ha. When we finally did arrive, the host informed us that they were full until closing. Shocking. (Disclaimer: I have been known to go to the park without diapers and sometimes wipes too… yes, I’m THAT mom.)
We were pretty set on finding an oyster bar, so we started the infamous “date night walk of August 2015.” On my feet were shoes that hadn’t been worn in a year. After a quick Google search for “oyster bars,” a new destination was settled upon (Row 34). We walked, and walked, and ended up somewhere around Faneuil Hall. After several Google checks, my husband gave a low moan. “Ohhh… it’s not 83 Congress, it’s 383 Congress.” It’s times like these that test your marriage.
And so we revised our plan and kept walking. I started getting desperate and very hungry. Another Google search yielded an option nearby. As I’m sure you all know, when your shoes are giving you blisters and you’re famished, your standards drop — i.e., who cares about oysters, let’s eat! Anything! RIGHT NOW! We ended up at a place that would have been perfect for an after-work drink. And you know what? Who cares? I ordered a glass of prosecco, and both of us, exhausted, tried our best to enjoy the meal and each other’s company. Does this sound familiar?
The night didn’t end there. Oh no. My husband bikes to work and had met me downtown accompanied by his bike. For anyone new to Boston, or if you’ve ever wondered, we were kindly informed that no, the green line does not allow bikes (this, just as our train was pulling up) but the red and orange lines do. File that. And so, we set off for home separately, me on the T and my husband on his bike. Turns out, the T takes about the same time as biking home. He met me off the T and offered me a ride on the back of his bike. His sport bike. Having imbibed a few cocktails and feeling a little silly, I agreed. This was, without a doubt, the best part of the evening. Picture it, if you will: Me, screaming down the street as we floated along down the last few blocks to the house, and my husband, laughing, telling me not to fall off.
So tell me, am I alone in this experience? Has anyone else had a similar fiasco? How often do you go out, just the two of you?
As we were crossing the street to go to my favorite restaurant, I stepped in a pothole and felt a pain so intense that I literally could not take another step. My husband helped me back to the car and we spent the rest of our “date” at the ER. One ice pack, two x-rays and a few hours later, we got the good news that it was just a very bad sprain. Ironically, we were paying a babysitter to spend hours at the hospital and came home later than we normally would have with NO dinner!
Hospital food for dinner is definitely a night to remember. Glad you are OK!