I have always thought the term “date night” for a night out with one’s spouse sounded silly. It reminds me of high school when the boy would pick me up at my house, take me somewhere, and deposit me back on my front porch, with or without a kiss goodnight, and preferably before curfew. Nevertheless, the term has been around for a while and doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon, so I guess I need to grudgingly give in, even though I find the idea of “dating my hubby” a bit dopey. After all, after the romantic “date,” I have to come home and listen to him snore, which kind of kills the butterflies in the stomach mood.

Still, the opportunity arose for Hubby and me to have a night out by ourselves last week. Younger Son was at a basketball game and Older Son’s plans are never finalized until the last minute, so we decided to go out to dinner, plus or minus a movie. Not only did we go out to dinner, mind you, but we decided to drive all the way to Fort Walton, at least fifteen minutes away, and experience fine dining at Sonny’s Barbeque.

Hubby needed to answer one text before we went into the restaurant. Right after we were seated, Younger Son phoned to give us some important piece of information that I’ve already forgotten. Secretly, I believe it was to ascertain that we hadn’t fled the country, leaving him orphaned. As the waitress brought our food, Older Son called to tell us he had finished his four hours of online required remedial driving lesson for having gotten a traffic ticket. He finished the four-hour course in one hour.  I was somewhat skeptical that he had actually completed everything required, but he assured us he had a certificate, so Hubby told him to save it and we would look at it when we got home. Despite the fact Older Son is a Millennial, I am more tech-savvy than he is, which, if you know me at all, means the child is hopelessly doomed to wander forever lost in cyberspace. We were finishing our meal when Younger Son phoned again to ask Hubby to extend his screen time for his phone. (We are abusive parents who do not give Younger Son unlimited screen time. Feel free to report us to Child Services. Please.)

“Three phone calls during dinner, and we don’t even have a babysitter,” I told Hubby.

He paid the bill, and we walked out to the parking lot debating whether or not to try and catch the movie. I checked my watch. From the time we left the house, drove to the restaurant, and had dinner, less than an hour had passed. We had plenty of time to get to the theatre.

We opted not to attempt the movie. The risk was too high. It ran for over two hours and we just couldn’t take the chance that our sons would need us during those two hours. Our date night, the special time we had all to ourselves, officially ended.

This brings me back to the definition of “date night.” In high school, I never had to worry about texting, or the kids calling.