We did it. We arranged for overnight babysitting for the Minions and were going to escape for an entire night.
We picked a local hotel to go to, just in case. The hotel had fancy rooms, that mentioned ‘premium bathroom amenities’, which had us picturing something like this:
The restaurant was apparently top-notch.
I bought a new dress. A Little Black Dress. I haven’t owned a LBD in a decade or more. Even though it was bought online, it fit perfectly, and felt incredible. I felt incredible in it.
I even tempted fate, and got my hair cut. When it comes to naturally curly hair, getting a hair cut is a complete crap shoot, but glory be, it was a WONDERFUL hair cut.
Wolf dug out the sexiest shoes I’ve ever owned, that have been in a box for I-don’t-know-how-many-years.
Bought a pair of stockings, rather than nylons. You know, the ‘stay up’ ones. Cause that’s fancy. And sexy. Apparently. At least in my brain.
Bought makeup. I don’t remember the last time I wore eyeshadow. Had to replace the lipstick due to age, and I’m not sure where the heck it went.
We arrived at the hotel promptly at check in. We had plans. Romance. Wild monkey love. Quiet talking, without interruption. It was going to be glorious.
First, the room. Was set at a temp that was perfect. For hanging a side of beef. Forget any passionate embraces, I needed to keep my coat on until the room warmed up. Huddling together for warmth was not what I had in mind.
Then, the bathroom? I’ve zero clue what their idea of ‘premium amenities’ is, but they weren’t ours. Maybe it was the wicker facial tissue cover and matching waste basket?
Wolf said, “I was expecting something more palatial…”
“And that’s one of the reasons I love you. You use words like, ‘palatial’. Awesome.”
We’d decided that we were going for dinner at 8 pm. No reason, other than we were trying to be ‘fancy’, and avoid any kids, since we didn’t have our own along. But, we got hungry before hand, and needed munchies, so headed out. That’s when the giggles hit.
“Only we,” I said to Wolf, while walking into the store, “Would plan a fancy romantic getaway, and end up at ***-Mart! Not A Stepford Life, indeed!” Our snickering as we wandered through the store got us some weird looks, but since we were dressed normally, I’m confident we won’t end up on the People of ***-Mart site.
Then it was time to get ready for dinner.
The dress was still wonderful. The makeup, however…
What I thought I was accomplishing
Took me a few tries so that I looked…well, if not sexy, at least not like Mimi from Drew Carey. Or a refugee from a horror movie, or travelling side show.
In the time it took to do my makeup, however, the sexy shoes were painful. Incredibly painful. Walking on hot knives sort of painful. My fantasy image of the LBD and kick butt shoes fell to more pratical issues, like wanting to walk without crying, and I put on my boots. Thankfully, I’d worn my dress boots, because if I’d worn my regular winter gear, I’d have been screwed. No WAY was I going to wear the LBD with heavy tread snow boots. Yes, I am that vain, tyvm.
Dinner? Well…when I called down for reservations, I was asked if it was a special occasion. I blurted out, “We’ve escaped our children overnight, so yeah!. Oh, and it’s also my husband’s birthday.” D’oh. What’s it say that I rank no kid night over Wolf’s birthday? Whoopsie.
And it wasn’t forgotten, since the waitress greeted us with, “Happy escaping the kids night! Oh, and happy birthday to you, Sir!”
I won’t get into the details of dinner, but suffice it to say that the restaurant manager ended up at our table, and comped a chunk of the meal.
We were walking around after dinner, when it happened. Remember those ‘stay ups’ I mentioned earlier? Yeah. They didn’t. Standing behind Wolf, I made quick work of stuffing them down into the tops of my boots. Awesome. My thigh highs became slouch socks. I instantly got over any lingering regrets over having had to ditch my shoes. There would’ve been no hiding it then, and how the heck do you hold on to the tops of your stockings, when wearing a LBD, and bolting for privacy in painful high-heeled shoes? I just can’t figure out a casual, unnoticeable way to do that. Anything I come up with has me hunched over like Igor in the throes of a diarrhea attack, doing a fast, painful shuffle for the nearest bathroom. Tres sexy, no?
Wolf and I have faced facts. We’re just not the fancy romantic getaway type. Next time, I’m thinking a log cabin somewhere. Fireplace, maybe a wood stove. Flannel shirts, wool socks.
That’s more our style.
Assuming that we don’t burn the cabin down while trying to light a fire.
Which is why Wolf is in charge of any and all fire making. Ever.