Something Suddenly Came Up

Julie and I were talking the other day about the last time we went out for a date. You know, just the two of us - without kids, friends or family. I said, “Probably during the Bush administration.” “Which one?” was her reply.

So there it was. The Cougar bye week now turned into Cougar date night. And as with every Tuesday, there is a pregame, game and postgame.

Pregame

Arrangements needed to be made right quick.

Call Village Nannies. Check.

Inform children. Check.

Threaten youngest male member of family to have good behavior or else I will make him watch me repeatedly drive over his Nintendo DS until it is crushed into tiny pieces that not even Mario or Luigi could put back together. Check.

Research topics of conversation other than kids, friends, family, work or house projects that need to be completed. Check.

Practice speaking in full sentences because children will not be interrupting every three seconds. Check.

Dig in basement for 1992 original hardcover version of Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus in order to remind self not to solve all wife’s problems but rather acknowledge and empathize. Check.

Cancel Cougar practice. To be completed.

There was a worry that the team would be upset because I chose one female Cougar over a pack of male Cougars. Canceling Cougar practice was easier than thought thanks to Greg and Marcia Brady.

My theory is that when in doubt, always use a reliable excuse that has passed the test of time. I simply told the Cougars that practice was canceled because “Something suddenly came up.”

Now, Julie thought that was a silly thing to say, “That’s ridiculous; it doesn’t mean anything,” she said. I explained to her that the line was rock solid and has worked since 1973. She just had a blank stare. “C’mon, you know, Greg told Marcia to say it to get out of a date,” I said. Wife’s eyes still glazed over.

You see, for some strange reason, Julie spent her irreplaceable youth years watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island and she completely missed the boat with the Brady Bunch.

Well, the line worked. The Cougars were placated and Julie agreed that she would watch all Brady Bunch episodes as soon as I drop my lifelong anti sci-fi stance and finally watch Star Wars.

Just then, the doorbell rang just as the final pregame checklist item was inked and with the babysitter's arrival we were on our way to the first pitch.

Game

The babysitter initiation typically lasts 30 minutes. We have the whole routine down to a science. Julie wheeled out our rolling medicine locker and like a skilled tour guide, gave the sitter an adventure right in our kitchen. Babysitters always find the Epi-Pen Trainer tutorial as a highlight of the medicinal voyage. Finally, we were so hungry that we skipped the defibrillator discussion.

There, done, we made it out. Gametime. We were ready to take the field.

Because it felt like we had not been out since 1991, we decided to make the date more interesting by dressing like it was. I went with the Cougar team color and put on a sharp olive green double breasted suit replete with pocket square and slicked back the hair while Julie slid into the sweet black dress and grew a few inches taller by building a wall of hair. For those of you in the McKenzie area, at about 6:00pm, you unknowingly experienced an ozone depletion event from all the Aqua Net transported into the stratosphere.

We had the kids take a picture to record the event.

Julie, as always, looked like a million bucks. Although, she will need that money to pay the fine in Kangaroo Court for not wearing the designated team color. (Full Disclosure - Photo circa 1991)

We got into her vehicular storage unit, um, I mean, Julie’s car. Anxiety was high and the pressure was on because with only two of us we each had a 50/50 shot at winning Cougar of the Week.

While in the car the song Wannabe by the Spice Girls came on the radio. I had never heard this original version and indicated that it sounded like a bad parody of the McK Variety Show opener. Our lyrics and music were much better so we sang our words louder than them.

We arrived at Tapas Gitana in Northfield and were seated promptly. The cheery waitress asked if we would like something to drink. “A pitcher of red sangria, please” was my response. She asked, “Large or small?”

Now we were posed with the first tough managerial decision of the night. I immediately reverted to the goals I set for the team in the preseason. Goal number three – do not get slaughtered. At that point it was easy move, like hitting a ground ball to the right side with less than two outs and a runner on third, so I ordered up the small pitcher.

Conversation at the table was easy and fluid. My prepared conversation topics ranged from fruit at the bottom yogurt (manufacturer mockery is what it is – the container fine print should read – “We saved a step and skipped the stirring part - you do it, schmuck customer!”) to my opinion that writing is like a puzzle (all the words are already in the dictionary and it is just a matter of picking certain ones and placing them in the correct order) to my handicapping of which cousin will accidentally fall into the water without a lifejacket on our houseboat vacation next week (leading the list is Danny who just turned 21 followed by Charley, age 6, and Mallory, age 3) to my disdain for the apostrophe (it just dangles there like a hair dangling from a hotel bathroom ceiling and leaves me wondering how did it get there, why is it there at all and do I have to be the one to remove it).

We laughed about Charley’s latest observations. Recently, while playing a game of family Uno, Charley wanted to know if Spanish people play One! And while on our way to a winery over Spring Break I told the kids that we were going to see how wine is made and Charley replied, “What, are we going see people crying?”

We giggled, because Miranda, based on what she hears on the playground, seems to believe there is an entire framework of swear words. As Miranda said, “Is there a swear for every letter? There is the A word, the B word, there’s no C word (although I am sure she will hear it at some point in her next decade), the D word, the F word.” Julie and I also discussed how Miranda indicated to us the other day that she is working on her poker face for our now daily games of Texas Hold ‘Em. Julie seems a bit unnerved that I have taught our beautiful and innocent firstborn how to play poker. I just said “Don’t worry. Depending on which games the kids played tonight, the babysitter may end up owing us money at the end of the night.”

Dinner is now served. The tapas are continually delivered and described to the table. The review of each food item reminds me of the cashier at the Walgreens on Green Bay who announces and evaluates each purchase as it is scanned. “Oh, Preparation H Extra Strength, this is the best kind. Bazooka bubble gum, it will get your mind off the itch.” And a silent glance at my nostrils when the nose hair clippers are scanned.

The portions are enthusiastically eaten. Rarely does a Cougar blog not describe the devoured rations. We like almost everything but the Calamares A La Plancha are first rate. (Tip: A quick Google search will get you $20 off a $50 order).

On the ride home, I inquired about the babysitter’s transportation. Thank goodness that the babysitter drove. Typically, a high stakes game of rock paper scissors is played to see who brings her home.

Next, we find ourselves digging into our pockets in order to pay the sitter’s bill. Fortunately, we have enough cash and do not have to raid the children’s piggybank (which contains coins, bills and crumpled up IOUs because from time to time we use it as our household ATM machine).

The babysitter gives us a complete account of the evening and the conclusion was that the kids were great teammates even though they never made it onto the field and were relegated to the bench all night.

Postgame

Julie and I recapped our own night and counted the Cougar of the Week ballots. We each got one vote so we just called it a tie and said we both won.

Once the kids were tucked, the coffee was prepared for the morning and the lights were dimmed, we dragged our weary bodies into bed. Julie finished the night by asking, “You’re not going to write a recap of the night, are you?” My response was simply, “ZZZZ.”