How To Woo Your Wife, The Princess: A Photo Essay

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I have two small children.

And my husband? He has the world’s shittiest work schedule.

And me? I’m kind of a needy, whiny bitch.

All of this is kind of a recipe for a Marriage Disaster, where no one wins and someone just doesn’t feel like it because I’m just freaking tired, OK!?!?!

Ahem. ANYway, we’ve decided to be a little proactive in the Marriage Department and institute Date Night (where we = me and decided = announced that you’re taking me out, so man up.)

Monday Nights
have now become Date Night, because as odd as it sounds that is the night that is the easiest for us to find a sitter and get away for a few hours. We decided to alternate the planning responsibilities where one week is my choice and the next week is his (again, see definitions of for “we” and “decided”), because surely that would make Date Night even more fun for everyone (which is not at all the same as “I am not going to be the only one making a freaking effort, m’kay?”).

I went first and sent us off for a classic Dinner and A Movie evening. Considering we hadn’t seen a movie in a real live theater since Men In Black 2, I figured it would be a good start. Lovely time had by all, even though the movie sucked ass, blah blah blah The End.

Fast forward to this week, and His Choice.

We started the evening at Applebee’s. Because we are classy like that.


We talked and we laughed and I couldn’t tell you for the life of me what was discussed. But I know it had nothing to do with work, which means it was heavenly.

After dinner, my perfectly romantic husband whisked me away to the next stage of the evening… where any illusions I was clinging to about someday having a reason to wear a Little Black Dress were completely shattered.


Now, sure, bowling sounds like a fun night. Romantic? No. Something different and fun? OK.

Unless of course you KNOW ME and know that a) I suck ASS at bowling and b) I do not DO things at which I SUCK ASS!

No. Really.


I ripped off my damn fingernail. Half way down my damn finger. Do you have any idea how badly that hurts?? Can you even begin to fathom the humiliation that comes from having to ask the bowling alley manager for a First Aid Kit?!?

Do you have any idea how much that interferes with one’s ability to bowl with any degree of skill??

Allow me to demonstrate.

My husband? With no injury? Bowls like this:


And then, there’s me, with no fucking thumb nail:


I think I am completely justified in planning a viewing of 27 Dresses for next Monday. And he will buy me popcorn, too.

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