I'd like to share how my expectations have evolved (devolved? disappeared?) over the past few years.
What I'd Expect Of A "Nice Dinner":
2010:
Perhaps a fancy restaurant by the water somewhere. Mood lighting that makes me look half do-able to the hubby (though, if you asked him, I'm sure sunlight, flourescent, candle, lamp, overhead ceiling fan, and flash lighting would all be acceptable on that front. He's easy to please, lol). A server who flings out the FABRIC napkin on one's lap (if the concept didn't creep me out and I didn't grab it lightning-ninja-fast-style and place it on my own lap first). At least a half bottle of wine to split, at the obscenely marked up price at whatever overpriced restaurant we were at for the special occasion. A starter salad, with difficult-to-pronounce fancy lettuces and stinky cheese. Gluten filled deliciousness for a main course (to be passed with tremendous bloating and gas the next day or two in private, at my leisure). The oft-disappointed, overly-inflated restaurant dessert (Horizons, I'm looking at you, $17 for a banana split? Fo rizzle?). Nicely, leisurely stretched out to fill the evening.
2013 (45 minutes ago):
A gluten-free microwaveable frozen dinner (We have too many friends and outings these days - no two day private farting opportunities any longer, nor the luxury of feeling like crap by choice when dealing with an infant all day and night long, every day), eaten by the dimmed light of the laptop, on the floor, beside my bed where a sleeping baby lies. Also? Eaten cold still (between dashes down to the kitchen to throw it in the microwave, and the return sprint upstairs to make sure said baby isn't smothering herself in the comforter, or rolling off the bed in her sleep), and eaten quickly, so she doesn't detect my absence and/or awaken prematurely from her nap.
Napkin? I don't need no stinkin' napkin. My shirt is a battleground of puke and BO, anyway.
Dessert? A gnawed off fingernail edge, as I lay beside her worrying about the messy house, the to-do list, and the frustration of not being able to nap beside her while my mind runs a mile a minute.
I still consider this a win, since I actually INGESTED dinner. And before 10pm at that. I'm practically Charlie Sheen winning ALL OVER THIS MAWFACKAH.
My, how times have changed!
Though, I still plan on having a honkin' glass of wine later on tonight. You betchur ass I am.
____________________
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What I'd Expect Of A "Nice Dinner":
2010:
Perhaps a fancy restaurant by the water somewhere. Mood lighting that makes me look half do-able to the hubby (though, if you asked him, I'm sure sunlight, flourescent, candle, lamp, overhead ceiling fan, and flash lighting would all be acceptable on that front. He's easy to please, lol). A server who flings out the FABRIC napkin on one's lap (if the concept didn't creep me out and I didn't grab it lightning-ninja-fast-style and place it on my own lap first). At least a half bottle of wine to split, at the obscenely marked up price at whatever overpriced restaurant we were at for the special occasion. A starter salad, with difficult-to-pronounce fancy lettuces and stinky cheese. Gluten filled deliciousness for a main course (to be passed with tremendous bloating and gas the next day or two in private, at my leisure). The oft-disappointed, overly-inflated restaurant dessert (Horizons, I'm looking at you, $17 for a banana split? Fo rizzle?). Nicely, leisurely stretched out to fill the evening.
2013 (45 minutes ago):
A gluten-free microwaveable frozen dinner (We have too many friends and outings these days - no two day private farting opportunities any longer, nor the luxury of feeling like crap by choice when dealing with an infant all day and night long, every day), eaten by the dimmed light of the laptop, on the floor, beside my bed where a sleeping baby lies. Also? Eaten cold still (between dashes down to the kitchen to throw it in the microwave, and the return sprint upstairs to make sure said baby isn't smothering herself in the comforter, or rolling off the bed in her sleep), and eaten quickly, so she doesn't detect my absence and/or awaken prematurely from her nap.
Napkin? I don't need no stinkin' napkin. My shirt is a battleground of puke and BO, anyway.
Dessert? A gnawed off fingernail edge, as I lay beside her worrying about the messy house, the to-do list, and the frustration of not being able to nap beside her while my mind runs a mile a minute.
I still consider this a win, since I actually INGESTED dinner. And before 10pm at that. I'm practically Charlie Sheen winning ALL OVER THIS MAWFACKAH.
My, how times have changed!
Though, I still plan on having a honkin' glass of wine later on tonight. You betchur ass I am.
____________________