This weekend, Slayer and I are leaving the kids with Grandma and Grandpa and going out for a night on the town. Things tend to happen when we go out. Like the one time we went to a new Italian restaurant for dinner, and EVERYONE in the restaurant was off-the-boat Italian. They were all passing babies from table to table, and everyone seemed to know each other. Except us, of course. Then some of the men started watching us out of the corner of their eyes while they muttered to each other in Italian--and something told me they weren't talking about the spaghetti. I half expected to see Marlon Brando in the corner. Seriously. It got so bad that Slayer started looking for bulges in their jackets.
Not muscle bulges, mind you. GUN bulges.
Anyway, I think our server noticed how edgy we were looking, because he let us know that we hadn't stumbled into the middle of Godfather 42. We'd accidentally crashed their opening day party, and the owners had invited all their friends and family.
Whoops. At least it's better than the time we went apartment hunting and he broke into their "impenetrable" security system.
Anyway, between tonight's appearance and this weekend's night out, I'm all excited and can talk about nothing else. Sorry.