We never much bought into date night. Date year, maybe. It always seemed like so much trouble to go out after having been out all day. Most of the time, nothing seemed better than our kitchen after trying to make a buck in the wicked nonprofit world and wrestling our kids to the ground.
We would stand in the kitchen and talk and talk and talk and drink and drink, but that’s the subject of previous blog posts. In any event, we were never much for going out. It seemed inferior to our own entertainment and it cost money, not my issue but a deal breaker for my husband.
Lately we have taken to going to events like political fundraisers and receptions thrown by corporations who want to score points with nonprofits. Suddenly, it seems like a good idea to ditch the kitchen yakking and go hang with the suits. Tonight, I wrapped up revisions to the 10-Year Plan to End Homelessness so I could get fancied up and go eat tiny empanadas and wee mushroom tarts with goat cheese served on trays held by young waiters holding napkins. It is deluxe to eat small food brought to you on silver trays. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. It makes unwrapping a Big Mac in the car like licking the lid of a stuffed garbage can.
Tonight there were two events. The first was a fundraiser for an alderman held in a neighborhood bar. Walking in, it struck me that I hadn’t been in a place with so many men in a very long time. “Why are there so many men here?” I asked my husband. He shrugged and went back for more wings. There were a couple of men I knew from a long time ago, one of them playing drums in the corner, wearing a cabbie hat turned backwards. A long time since I’d seen him, decades, but he gave me a a look like he remembered well all the times we’d passed each other in the hallway at the agency where we worked. We had a bond, that’s for sure.
At the second event, the one with the tiny food, I also saw people I knew from long ago. Both of them gave me looks like they remembered something extra endearing about me like there had been some mischief we’d done together, soaped windows on Halloween or played ding dong ditch together. It takes so little to find a bond with someone when you’re in a giant room with 400 people and know only six of them. ‘We once parked in the same lot on Wisconsin Avenue, do you remember? You had a McGovern sticker and so did I!’
I like our new hobby. The food is good and there’s the chance of being endearing to someone different.
What’s not to like?