Last Friday night my BFF Sarah and her second-grader Georgia had a sleepover at our house with Maggie and Oliver. It was an all-out preschool rager complete with banned movies and copious amount of hitherto forbidden foods. Something called "fruit gushers" was smuggled in. Rice Crispy treats were introduced. There was—I can barely stand to say it—morning television. Needless to say, the kids were in the sort of Heaven where you float around on clouds of cotton candy and big girls give you their undivided attention. The kind of Heaven dreamed up by three-year-olds.
Fruit Gushers. Some consider them food.
But what this story is really about is the Mister's and my night away. We couldn't go far in our precious 17 hours, so we Pricelined a San Francisco hotel and hoofed it over to the financial district Hilton. I know, it doesn't sound that great.
Like me, you may be picturing balding businessmen overeating at the complimentary breakfast buffet, possibly an irritable family from Des Moine on some extended and unhappy vacation. You might, like me, be so worried about the business grimness of it that you might, like me, lie to the man at the check-in counter about it being your anniversary. You might shamelessly ask for and receive an upgrade and then you might get this view:
And when you got this view you might start to realize that this was going to be a good night, even if neither of you had bothered with dinner reservations or negligee of any kind (and how I love the Mister in his negligee). Because, really, it's hard to have a bad night when you're in North Beach playing "when we move here," and then you stumble upon the cutest bar in the world and have the adult version of a fruit gusher, only better. And then another.
Go here and order a Pim's Cup. You won't be sorry.
When the extremely friendly Syrian cab driver talks to you about how much money Jennifer Aniston makes you really know its a good night. And then, when you get into this surprisingly delish restaurant even though you have no reservation of any kind and you eat meatballs and cold cuts made from duck, well, this pretty much tops it off. It's one hell of a date night. It's perfect.
Until you get back to the room, where you are very much looking forward to indulging in a little cable TV and eating the dessert you ordered to go.
The Mister won't pay $15.99 to watch The Blind Side on pay per view (and I can't blame him) so we decide to do a little channel surfing in the land of a thousand shows. And guess what? There is nothing on. We spend, nay, waste, and hour flipping between E! Twenty Top Celebrity Body Part, MTV's Spring Break and HBO, where they are showing the Best of YouTube. Not only is it bad entertainment, but what it says about our culture is so grim, I begin to regret bringing children into the world. People pay a lot of money to access the Twenty Top Celebrity Body Parts. This makes me want to eat fruit gushers until I explode.
The bright side is that we were just about to break down and finally get cable. And now we don't have to.
And now, for something completely different, a kid story that's not about one of my kids, but about one of the kids of one of my friends. It goes like this.
Three-year-old kid is in the bathroom with mom while she's changing a tampon.
Mom, when I get a vagina can I have tampons?
You already have a vagina, but when you get your period you can have tampons.
Do you think I can have Hello Kitty tampons?
And that's really it for the week. See you in approximately seven days.