Usually, I pick where we go for date night. But last night, Husband took charge and made us a reservation at a new Italian restaurant in our neighborhood called Joanne. The restaurant happens to be owned by Lady Gaga’s parents and named after the singer’s late aunt. Cool.

Our reservation was for 6:30pm and when we arrived, the place was pretty empty except for a few tables full pre-theater diners. As we were studying the menu, an older man in a blue shirt blurred by. “Enjoy, folks!” he crooned. That was totally Gaga’s dad, I declared to Husband even though I had no idea what I was talking about. We nibbled on delectable rosemary focaccia. And we ordered dinner. In an odd turn of events, I asked for meatballs. I don’t really eat meatballs. But it seemed like the right thing to do, the Gaga thing to do.

Our food came. We ate. And chatted. Husband mentioned that Nick Kristof had a piece that day in The New York Times about Lady Gaga and bullying. While he was telling me that Gaga was bullied as a child, I noticed someone at the front of the restaurant with very long, very blonde hair. She caught my eye. And then she turned around. It was Gaga. She’s here, I said to Husband, not at all dramatically. And then she whisked off her black coat and walked to the back of the restaurant, toward us.

She was friendly and greeted all of us. And then she disappeared to the back. But then she came out again and stopped by our table and said hello. And I’m not going to lie: she rubbed Husband’s shoulders in small, sensuous circles. Sure, she did this to a number of other diners, but I deemed this a noteworthy detail to include here. Husband told her that he enjoyed Kristof’s article and she said thank you and that she thought Kristof “did a nice job with it.”

For the rest of the evening, we watched her glide back and forth through the tiny restaurant in her long and backless black dress. A girl at the table behind us said, “Gaga! What shoes are you wearing?” And the Lady stopped, smiled, hiked up her dramatic dress, and flashed her black suede studded platforms (easily ten inches high) and declared that they were custom.

Anyway, this uber-celeb seemed smart and sweet and refreshingly normal. When one guy asked whether he could take her picture, she declined diplomatically, rubbing this man’s back, explaining that it was not the night for that kind of thing, that she was just there to enjoy her evening with her family in her dad’s restaurant.

On the way out, I tried to snap a few shots of the little place that happened to have decent food. The pictures came out dark as I anticipated they would. Alas. On the walk home, my man and I shared a carton of banana pudding from the nearby Magnolia Bakery. I turned to Husband and joked, This might have been the best date night ever.

Too bad that has absolutely nothing to do with me, he said, smiling.

And then we walked on and texted Nanny and said we were almost home. Because we were.

Goodness, I love this city. Not because it’s teeming with celebs (and, yes, calories).

I love this city because you never know.

{P.S. I also had coffee with Chelsea Clinton at Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf earlier in the week. By having coffee with her I mean we both played on our respective laptops and phones at neighboring tables. I tried to sneak a picture of her using that reverse photo feature thingy on my iPhone but it didn’t come out so great. It’s official: I do not have a future in the paparazzi.}

Do you go on date nights? Who plans them? Any fun celeb sightings or nights out recently? Are you a Gaga fan? Happy weekend, all!