A night of wild mommies and the quest for a date

This past Tuesday I went out to a little playdate of my own, along with three other lovely FSO spouses--we were sending one of them off to Mexico City, where her husband will be a Foreign Service Specialist (meaning, he has some mad engineering skills and will help keep the joint together). We went out to a local place, called the FrontPage, at around 6.30 pm to catch more of the Happy Hour. We all told our husbands that we might not be home to tuck in the kids but will definitely be home by 9 pm. By 11.30 pm, still going strong, after a rowdy game of Bar Trivia, many happy hour drinks, a birthday cake and a hockey game over, someone suggested that we MIGHT consider going home. Apparently, we all have agreed since we all woke up in our own beds the next day. I did it at 5.30 am, since Son decided the world is too fabulous and interesting of a place for him to sleep any further and miss any moments of its happening. I decided to go to his room and try to make him sleep by lying in his bed--feeling guilty from the previous night of "Mommies Gone Wild" episode, I had concluded that it was crucial for us to bond. And bond we did, right then and there, me partially asleep on Son's twin bed and Son running cars and trains over the length of my head and body, squealing in delight. At 6.30 am, I lifted my listless body and dragged myself for 5 hours of happy Bangla.

On Sunday night, we were supposed to host a couple of very good friends from my graduate school (SIPA). Since the husband has the rep of somewhat of a foodie, and I had never hosted them before, I had decided to shine (among other gems) with my best appetizer out there--dates stuffed with goat cheese. That's all very nice, but the whole shining thing sort of fizzles when one cannot find dates. I checked at my trustee Harris Teeter (for those living in Ballston--get a VIC card, you'd love it!)--nothing. Grudgingly, I then drove to the local Safeway, where a 15 year-old cashier told me with very strong Spanish accent, "I duh-no kaarrrrrrrri de deitz." Slightly alarmed and wondering whether there has been some date-eating festival lately, I decided to go to Whole Foods, a store with which I wholly disagree but surely would have dates. At the traffic light, I all of a sudden noticed a Lebanese grocery shop, immediately made a stop and burst in eager expectation of heaps of dates. The only dates that I found there were packaged by Ocean Spring in Florida. Slightly disturbed by that, I hopped back into the car and battled the traffic in downtown Clarendon to try and squeeze into the insignificant parking lot in front of Whole Foods. The crowd of yuppees ready to pay crazy money for tiny jars of wordly foods was oppressive and its effect was compounded by the fact that for some inexplicable reason, cars could enter the parking lot only through the very end, rather than through whichever row they chose (which would be so much more convenient and accessible). That made things particularly congested, so when all of a sudden a car pulled out right in front of me, I sort of cut through the crap and immediately took the spot. The yuppeed went ballistic with the honking, and a hurried and VERY concerned parking-control dude ran towards me and told me that I just done a wrong thing. I neatly replied that I knew that but in the name of less traffic, can't he just let it go. He again, with a VERY grave expression, told me that I had broken the rules, and I asked, with a noticeable irritation in the voice, whether that was TRULY that important to him and whether he wanted me to shop there at all. He seemed a stickler for the complicated parking rule and did not appear like he was going to let go, so I angrily and for good measure slammed the car door, pulled the car out from the spot and with 36 maneuvers (the lot was crammed with cars), got out and sped away from the wholly impossible place. My last hope was Giant, where I finally found the precious fruit. For the record, their parking lot was HUGE and rather empty. Go Giant! The appetizer was the usual success.
This is a short week thanks to the MLK day and the fact that the government recognizes the need to celebrate it. 4-day weeks make Bangla so much more palatable.

The Diplomat and I also realized that we had completely stopped our cultural development and promptly bought tickets to the opera. We will be seeing Madama Butterfly in March!!!