Saturday morning, Mr. W and I met up with our realtor at his office to sign loan papers for our new house. Interest rates are stupidly high right now. The immediate financial future of this country isn’t looking so good, what with expenses increasing as soaring gas prices push the cost of everything up, and the short-sighted government writing bills to bail out people in the housing crisis while propelling us into dollar-inflation and recession. “Oh no, we’re sinking! Let’s dig faster!” It was a scary session with the realtor. I hope our current homes lease out immediately to good renters.

Saturday evening was better. Mr. W and I met up with Gym Trainee at a TGI Friday’s bar to kill a bit of time before her son’s dance concert across the street. The three of us wolfed down our cold drinks (white zinfandel for her, dirty gin martini for Mr. W, Triple Purple Hooters for me) then walked across the street. Altho I thought most performers at the concert were unspirited and uninspired dancers who were barely able to stay on beat so forget about being in sync with each other, Gym Trainee’s son had impressive rhythm. He did this one move where he did a spin in mid-air and lands in a semi-split. He takes after his god-mama. Ahem. Since my godson was jealous when he found out the three adults met at Friday’s before his performance and he’d never been there before, the four of us returned to Friday’s after the concert for dinner. I hadn’t been to a TGI Friday’s in years since the ex and his crew used to hang out there (but not at this particular branch), and walking in this evening I saw my favorite bartender from the other branch. When he worked at the other branch, I used to walk in, sit at the bar and tell him, “I feel like something fruity. Surprise me.” And he introduced me to many many creative drinks that have become some of my favorites. I remember back years ago, he was practicing throwing bottles doing a few Flair Techniques tricks, and he’d drop them a lot. Now, his Flair was down! A metal shaker would flip in the air as ice cubes flew over his shoulders to land in the shaker, and meanwhile a bottle is spinning its way to pour liquor in the shaker at an angle that seems to defy gravity when it happens. Really cool stuff. I’m gonna have to hang out there just to watch him. We got to chat a bit and catch up. When I told him I’m engaged, he gave me a high-five. That’s the first time I’d gotten that kind of reaction. Haha.

After dinner I returned to Mr. W’s house with him, and he handed me a red giftbag. “I told you not to get me anything, and that I just wanted you to save money for my birthday!” I protested.
“It’s small,” he promised.
I pulled out a card that was full of happy anticipation of our future together. Then as I dug around the tissue, I noted, “I smell food.”
“You do? How do you smell food?”
“I just do. I smell dough and sugar. And chocolate.”
“That’s impossible.”
I dug around the tissue some more, trying to find the opening between all its folds, and pulled out a GIANT chocolate chip cookie. “Ah-ha! I knew I smelled dough and sugar and chocolate!” He laughed at me. I dug around some more and pulled out…The Proper Care and Feeding of Husbands in paperback by Dr. Laura Schlessinger. Now I laughed. I suppose he got me back for getting him, as part of his Christmas gift, How Not to Ruin the Most Important Day of HER Life, a wedding planning guide for grooms. He beat me in the romance department, however, because he wrote an inscription on an inside page that he’d purchased the book because it has the word “husband” on the cover and wanted me to get used to the concept. Cute! I loved that he bought something that is designed to make our marriage lasting and enjoyable, and I appreciate always his willingness to try new things to improve “us”. However, after reading a few chapters, I started feeling uncomfortable and confused. The book basically makes me feel like crap for having personal accomplishments and independence because Dr. Laura apparently doesn’t think “normal” women are “whole” without a husband and children, and that independent women are actually short-changed by the feminist movement to THINK we’re happy and thriving when in fact we’re fooling ourselves while being bitches. Seriously! I linked a review to the book title where the reviewer apparently feels just like I did. Nevertheless, I’ll finish the book because even if I disagree with the perspective and context, I may nevertheless glean a thing or two I can add to my relationship perspective. Sometimes the salad bar sucks but a cucumber slice here and a cherry tomato there could still be delicious in my regular dinner.