My husband and I used to spend every date night in the same place: the bookstore. We’d go our separate ways, peruse the shelves, pick out interesting books and great magazines, then meet up in the coffee shop, where we’d sip drinks and nibble on cookies and share tidbits we read. You could find us there a lot of Friday nights.
Then the bookstore closed. We were at a loss. We started haunting dollar stores every Friday night. Go out to dinner, then buy an entire cart-full of stuff for $35. That’s 35 separate items. It made us giddy with excitement.
Then we lost interest. Our house was full of things that cost (and were worth) a dollar. What would we do during date night? We toyed with going to bars and listening to music, but all the local bands seemed to do was scream, or endlessly reprise music that was popular before I went into puberty. And ever since Cancun, I haven’t wanted to drink. Ever again. The very smell of alcohol makes me gag.
Recently, my husband and I were shopping on a Friday night and he gasped, “Oh God, this is the third Friday in a row we’ve gone to the hardware store!”
How had we degenerated to this state? Wandering the empty aisles of plumbing supplies and fasteners? Catching the clerks giving us pitying glances behind our backs? Having multiple gentlemen in orange vests offer to help us out of sheer boredom?
Soon it will be spring. We can start haunting the plant nurseries. Thank God. My husband is running out of things to fix around the house.
Or maybe we could try the library.