Date Night

It began typically,

Mrs. Snark: "Hey, it's been eleven years since we saw a movie in the theater together. And The Boy is a teenager now, so he can theoretically be trusted alone with Miss Bear for two hours.  Let's go out this Saturday night!"

Mr. Snark: (delay) "Oooo-kay. What do you want to see?"

Mrs. Snark: (snaps out) "Maleficent!"

Mr. Snark: "Do we know what's playing?"

Mrs. Snark: "Maleficent!"

Mr. Snark:  "Is that something Miss Bear would like to see?"

Mrs. Snark: (hands man a shovel to help him dig) "No but it's something I'd really like to see and that won't happen if Miss Bear is along."

 Mr. Snark: "I guess we're going to see Maleficent."

Mrs. Snark: (mutters)  "Smart man."

Now, I don't know about the typical "married older couple", but in the Snark household Date Night is witnessed about as often as a unicorn sighting, usually on the night pigs fly beneath a blue moon.

In preparation, we tucked Miss Bear into bed precisely at 8PM. I was inordinately pleased when Mr. Snark appeared downstairs at 8:05PM. Leaving on time is about as uncommon as Date Night itself.

Mrs. Snark: "Teeth brushed?"

Mr. Snark: "Yep!"

Mrs. Snark: "Story read?"

Mr. Snark: "The middle boy is reading three stories."

Mrs. Snark: (impressed) "How did you manage that?"

Mr. Snark: "I promised him $20."

Mrs. Snark: (squawk) "They'd better be long ones!"

We're old so we don't look at our cell phones while we're out together. Instead, I regale Mr. Snark with tales of my latest writing endeavors while Mr. Snark stares across the bar at the sports game on the plasma screen that he can see but not hear. I'm happy because I get a captive audience.  He's happy because he gets nachos and margaritas.

Just for the record: the movie was AMAZING. <-- If I knew how to make this glitter, I would.

However, after the movie, I was disgusted with the state of the women's restroom in the theater. No toilet paper. No towels. Trash everywhere. So I emerged scowling.

Oddly enough, Mr. Snark noticed.  "What's wrong?"

Mrs. Snark: (recites list of grievances)  "I'm going to tell the customer service desk on the way out."

Mr. Snark: "Okay."

Ten feet later, Mr. Snark shouts: "You're going the wrong way! The exit is over there!"

Honestly, it's one of those moments when you stop and look back at your spouse and wonder... Was he dropped on his head as a child?  Does he ever listen to a word I say to him?  I knew he must be assuming that I'd gotten lost on my way out of the lobby. What other logical explanation could there be for my path to the customer service desk? Hmm...I wonder.

Outside the theater, I asked, "How did you think I was going to complain to the front desk without walking by it. Do you listen to me at all?"

Mr. Snark: "I heard you. I  thought you just wanted to complain to me."

Mrs. Snark: "Well, what good would complaining to you do? You can't do anything about it."

Mr. Snark: "Well, that didn't stop you."