For You, Anonymous*.

We went on a date to my favorite restaurant that I had been telling him about for months. He let me pick out his shirt for our date. It was red, and I commented that red looked good on him. He pulled up to the restaurant and choked. He had been there before but didn't remember its name. He went there after a concert with his best friend who I had never heard of until a week or two ago. I ordered the chicken. So did he. Only he over-ranched his sandwich and got sauce everywhere. I thought that the pickle had a funny aftertaste, but Abraham disagreed. The service was sub-par. A girl at the next table loudly proclaimed that Kosher food tasted bad. We looked at each other and laughed. Our bill was $21.63. He paid. And then he came home and gave me 300 kisses.

Dinner was mundane and ordinary, just like the majority of dinners. I don't read a whole lot of blog posts about dinners unless something noteworthy happens like a celebrity sighting. There is a reason I don't share every detail. If you like, I can also share the time we went to Publix and bought fried chicken. Spoiler alert: I called him a breast man.


*For every Anonymous who seems hung up on what we do instead of why we do it.