Saturday, April 02, 2005

A Note on My Date

When dating your eight and a half month pregnant wife, factors like availability to a restroom, length of wait to be seated, walking distance from the minivan, and overall table clearance take precedence over the normal criteria--taste of food, cost, service, etc. With these factors in mind and, oh, so many other factors I probably didn't know about, my wife and I took off to have a date.

We eventually chose the Fairway Grill, a St. George cafe that serves the standard cafe fare but with a decidedly elegant touch (read Prime Rib and Baked Salmon for a slick $16.95 each). It satisfied all of the pregnancy prerequisites so we thankfully enjoyed a tasty meal without total discomfort.

My wife did so well, in fact, that following our meal, she wanted desperately to go shopping. It was at this point that I realized that dating your pregnant wife is markedly different than dating anyone else. In full-blown nesting mode, she suggested Wal-Mart. We have no kids and the night to ourselves, and my wife wants to sachet through a Wal-Mart Supercenter. Her supposed goal was to show me the dishes she had been eyeing.

A bit of history. We own a set of bisque-colored stoneware dishes, but they are becoming less of a set as they get dropped and chipped. Before Christmas, my wife unboxed her holiday dishes, a set we like to call the "Cabin in the Snow" dishes. They are lovely. In a bold move by my wife, she decided after Christmas to never return to the bisque-colored stoneware and use the "Cabin in the Snow" dishes exclusively, so that she would be forced to buy another set.


We are in the dish aisle at the Wal-Mart, and she is showing me all of the dish possibilities. I really don't care what dishes we get or don't get. In fact, the "Cabin in the Snow" dishes hold the pork chops and applesauce just fine. I then catch myself saying things I never thought I would ever utter. I said, "Honey, I don't like the green stoneware with the black bottom. It just doesn't seem like its us." I was so embarrassed. I was actually getting a designer groove on at the Wal-Mart. As if I could actually care, I was Martha Stewart in there. It was frightening.

Oh, I hope this kid gets here soon.


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