07 Nov we’re dating. it’s serious.
Kris and I haven’t been on a date in…..we haven’t been on a date in…..in…..I have no idea how long. I think it’s been about 6 months. Kris seems to think we haven’t been out alone since Miles was born. This past year was a fog, so I couldn’t tell you who’s right.
So, whatever the backstory…we hired a sitter, and we had a date. And it was fun. First, we went out for Indian food. The kids will eat a lot of ethnic food, but Indian is not their favorite. So we took advantage of our alone time to try out a new restaurant. We had some lamb curry that was particularly yummy.
On the way back from the restaurant, we passed a carnival being held in a church parking lot. It was all lit up and oh-so-inviting: bells ringing, the smell of funnel cakes wafting. So we stopped by.
And we made a beeline for the Ferris wheel. The ultimate date ride. We piled in line behind the neighborhood teenagers and tried to blend in.
Then when we got stuck at the top for several minutes, we did what any newly dating couple would do. We made out. The kid sitting behind us was not amused.
It took my mind off the fact that the struts supporting the Ferris wheel were rusty and wobbly.
Before we left, Kris threw a ping pong ball into a little glass vase and won a goldfish for Bronwynn. We got about halfway to the car before we realized we had nothing at home to support a goldfish. We debated for a while….how long do carnival goldfish live anyway? Do we really want to keep it? Kris recalled that his grandparents’ carnival goldfish lived 9 YEARS.
To which I replied, “They don’t make carnival goldfish like they used to.”
But we decided to be optimistic, and we headed to the all-night superstore (yep, that one) and bought a “goldfish starter kit” for $8.
This was turning into quite a date! We brought it home and got the little fella moved in and fed.
This morning, B padded downstairs to the kitchen and exclaimed “Mommy! It’s a fish! There’s a fish in here!!”
And by the time I came downstairs to see, she had her hand in the fish bowl. I got her dried off and asked her if she wanted to name the fish. Nemo, perhaps? And she said “no. not Nemo. let’s call him nothing.”
“You don’t want him to have a name?” I asked.
“No, his name is ‘nothing’,” B clarified.
A Fish Called Nothing.
I can hear him penning his memoir right now.