Jack takes me to dinner whenever he can afford it.
Usually it's Friday nights, after private lessons, when he has a little bit of cash in his pocket that he reserves for me instead of being so darn responsible and paying off my student loans or my car or our mortgage or whatever it may be.
He's good to me in a lot of ways, you know.
So I got a text from Jack on Friday while he was at work.
It's been a while since we've gone out for dinner together, mostly because we just bought a karate school and oh, by the way, did you guys know that's expensive?
But Friday, we got to eat together. Out! And talk face-to-face. And yeah, most of the time we talk about taekwondo school and budgets, but I'll take that, especially when this is involved:
Grimaldi's blueberry cobbler cheesecake. Run, don't walk. Trust me on this one.
After the meal and drinks and dessert, we're pretty much rolling ourselves out of there, we've eaten so much wonderful food.
Later, we'll rent a movie and I'll try to snuggle up to Jack while we watch.
"Gahhhooooohhhhh stop that," he'll moan. "Get off my stomach. I'm so full. I'm going to puke."
And so I'll find another position, my head on his shoulder or laying the other way on the couch so my feet are in his lap instead.
And we'll laugh together and be quiet together and talk together and probably fall asleep together. A few hours later, we'll wake up with sore necks and drag ourselves to bed at something like 4 in the morning.
Maggie will sleepily jump on the bed and cuddle up between us, thankful that she finally gets to, and we'll pet her and whisper to each other for a few more minutes until we're back to sleep again, stomachs, hearts, and lives very, very full.