Eycarumba

Date night didn’t go so well last night. I’ve learned that having date night the same evening that the Hubs has a gig is a bad idea. His cell phone rang off the hook (or does that description even apply since cell phones don’t have hooks or cradles or base units, do they?…maybe I should say his cell phone rang out of his pants), he was obviously distracted by a cerebral set list or guest list or wine list and he was dressed as his alter-stage dominating-ego. This means a bright blue pinstriped polyester suit, blinding white shirt and brown shoes with heels taller than mine. I love the suit but it certainly has its place and that place is not in an intimate setting on date night. I mean, the lapels are dangerously huge and could put out an eye when necking occurs and the fabric is like cozying up to a Brillo pad. Did I mention this thing is exceedingly flammable? A candlelit table for two was out.

We eventually got to the gig location after a painful detour to a local Mexican restaurant to see a friend play in the midst of what seemed to be the last hoorah on the dance floor for a busload of the elderly. The Peacock (venue for said gig) was filled with foxy youngin’s ready for an alcohol enduced dance party and upon crossing the threshold of the place, the Hubs immediately checked out of date night and assumed his rock star personae. Total bummer but wifey understands. Better luck next week.