I think we were a little bamboozled (how do you like that word?) at the prospect of spending time alone together. Really. Like so much that we didn't know what to say to each other. We kind of stared at one another and then looked away. Smiled. Snuck another peek at each other...grinned, shook our heads and ventured a few, non-child related words.
The words turned into sentences. The sentences turned into jokes and memories. The grins turned to full on laughs and we were us again.
Cheers to seven years.
I know, that looks like a lot of wine on the table...it is.
We were wine-tasting at this cute lil place.
We didn't finish it all...and what we did finish gave my tough, man-o-steel a tummy ache that lasted through the rest of our meal.
At one point, I think he said, "Look at me. So lame. I have no idea how to do this dating thing anymore." As he made his way, green-faced, to the bathroom...again.
He'll love that I blogged that.
Smoked duck appetizer. Delish.
I can't tell if that's the look of love or the look of nausea.
I'm good with whichever...
He mustered up the gastric strength to go on with our plans of seeing Beauty and the Beast on stage. My man loves Beauty and the Beast. To the point of quoting each and every word. And that's okay, because I love it to. I actually find it quirkily charming. Mr. B's got quirkily charming down pat.
Let me tell you, the man positively glows when Gaston comes on the stage. What kind of person decides that Gaston, a french sociopath, is his hero? I think it's the biceps. And I don't blame him really, I'm a sucker for chiseled musculature too.
At one point, when his adoration for Gaston was at it's peak I said, "You do realize that Gaston does not get the girl in the end. You remember this, don't you?"
He smiled. He squeezed my hand and kissed my cheek.
Yes, we were us again. And it was good.