Let's date

The hot date! I almost forgot. It happened. It was magical and marvelously, monstrously satisfying.

Joanna was a champ and came to our raucous living room in time for us to make social hour at Uchiko. I could talk for pages about the delectable pampering we received at the hands of Ali, who was our personal sushi master (18 years of experience) for over two hours. It was a feast for my eyes and my palette to watch him at work, and I hardly wanted to eat it when he completed each beautiful little pile but I did. I swooned. Warm saki, squid ink reduction? fried anise, fried milk. I wish I could remember the names of everything, but it's best I don't make you too hungry.

I have a hard time being spoiled in any way, it makes me uncomfortable when I know someone is expending great energy for my smallest comfort. I don't get massages, don't get pedicures, I never send a plate back at a restaurant-there could be an entire braid of hair in it, but I don't want to have them throw it away and remake it, horror! I don't even order things from cocktail waitresses and I used to be one.

However, because he was such an artist this time I just soaked it all in. I could tell he took pride in the food and presentation and it gave him pleasure to see us licking our chops. Aside from gastronomically it was also psychologically good for me.

We sneaked back home to grab our bikes (thanks for loaning us your sweet mount Allen, you saved our marriage!) and had a glorious ride, not too cold or warm, bombing down hills, cutting through campus, running stop lights. Fueled by gold sushi we owned the streets and reveled being just two again.

We skidded into the Club DeVille parking lot like a couple of twitterpated rascals and I pulled my heels from my purse and switched out of my blue sneaks to become...Amazon Cape Girl , who never spends her days changing diapers and doing dishes, nay! She only wears impractical and beautiful clothing, sups on ambrosia and elk foam, and flits around on the arm of a handsome minstrel without a care of the hour.

We had the good fortune to schedule our date on the same evening as the LAST WALTZ and the music was amazing, soul warming and nostalgic. We embraced a dozen friends, sipped gin drinks with elderberry flower and orange bitters and sneaked out by midnight for one last jaunt to the east side and our favorite patio at the Yellow Jacket. We cheered the manly exertions of the next table's arm wrestling competition, met up with Heidi and Matt and snuggled amongst the bamboo.

Rather than risk death by frat boy drunken mow-down we called up Adrian with his illegal pickup truck-gypsy cab and had a leisurely escort back to reality.

If my memory had a belly, it would be fat and happy.