That sucked. If it were a singles adventure, I would have given a fake number. Last time, the three-way couples dinner date was so very unexpectedly fun, the food was good, the conversation/impressions were not at all offensive. Enjoyable. This time, not nearly the same.
I left work enraged, don’t even want to get into that tonight. So I drive home like a total asshole, speeding like an irresponsible teenager in an expensive car, music cranked, etc. Wash face, throw on nicer clothes, drive like the same asshole to Cbus. First of all, the male diner who’s not related to me by marriage has been there for a full HOUR before any sibilings and/or in-laws showed up. Um, okay. I can’t describe the conversation as much other than painful. Oh, sure I can. Awkward, silly. I must admit there were some fun moments. It did feel like for, oh, about a third of them, I might have been the only one who realized what I was laughing at; it was a bit unsettling. Hopefully we can recreate those funny moments rather than the, uh, other ones when we have them all over to our house next time. Erg.
Dating advice: never agree to the third date ’til you enjoy the second. Well, never say never, but you get it.
Needless to say, given that the next get-together will be at our house, if they start bashing anyone I would like to defend, I’m just gonna keep on keeping my mouth kept shut and have a glass of freaking Sangria. My house. I’ll make you some sweet tea. You can say the prayer before we eat. I’m cool with that. We will not sing hymns, though. No. That’s where I draw the line. Hey, we could put up the big, gory crucifix we got as a wedding gift! They’d probably like that. Eesh. I wonder if hubby would even see the humor in that.
He does. Yay. A project. Involving a hammer and nails and… a crucifix. Shit.
Okay, we’re done here. Sorry for that little trip around the hamster wheel in my head.