It was an incredible night. Not just any date night. I think it was destined to be good because my husband planned it. I have always been the resident planner and have secretly (and not-so-secretly) hoped that he would take those reins and take me out. And he did.
It was just an early dinner in the neighborhood. It was just food. Not very good food to be frank. But we met a major celebrity. And I didn't really care about this. Nor did he. But the whole experience was just wild, and serendipitous, and fun. It reminded me, and us, how cool it really is to be here in this big city. How much of a privilege it is to live our life here.
We walked home and shared a pint of pudding and we stopped at the pharmacy so he could get some cash from the ATM. And I was giddy. I kept cracking jokes, not funny ones, and laughing. Deep belly laughs that made it hard to breathe. I was just being silly. I was just being me.
That night, as we climbed into bed, I said it to him, giggling. "I felt like I was drunk tonight."
He smiled, leaning over to kiss me goodnight. "There is another word for that. Happy."
Light bulb. Yes.