HEY WOW, I went on a date last night. With my baby daddy.

No, not Earl. No, not Randall. No, not Marsha. COMPANION. Sheesh, you guys. I guess I have to be more specific.

Anyway, Gracious Houseguest has watched my children twice in the past week so we could go out. Do you know the last time we went out before that? May. And the last time before that? February. I’m talking about out-out, all by ourselves with complicated, highly-stainable clothes and shit.

Presumably (and I say “presumably” because I don’t really know) Franny is in France right now. So we stormed the Greenwood neighborhood with impunity, because we knew other babydaddies wouldn’t be lurking about there. I still heart you, Greenwood. I’m sorry you make Companion a little queasy.

We ate dinner at Olive You, which I liked for lunch about a year ago. The fellow at our friendly neighborhood comics shop (one of the only reasons I come back to Greenwood) told us that Olive You is now featuring a full bar. This was our final deciding factor in going.

Supa ruined me for Seattle Greek food by taking me to this orgasmic place while I was in San Francisco. She’s said in the past that there’s ultra-deluxe Greek food to be had in Denver as well, and I have to admit I thought maybe her memory was telling her it was better than it really was. But I concede to her. There is this whole other tier of Greek food…and it’s not in Seattle. But the appetizers at Olive You are pretty good. The service both times I’ve been has been terrible. I hate having to beg for water, because I’m one of the most water-drinkingest people I’ve ever met. But I will probably go back to get some of those spreads.

Then, to walk off our bursting bellies and make room for beer, we walked up to the 74 Street Ale House. It has been at least two years since I’ve been out for cider on tap, so three went down scary-easy. The waitress remembered us from somewhere, and we told it was from that pub. We confessed that we had a baby and so weren’t out nearly as much. She said that couples often disappear for a while because of spawnatude. “Welcome back,” she said.

The rest of the evening is kind of a blur. I woke up and a bra had been completely torn in half, which was not the bra I began my evening in, my butt hurt, and there was mongoose porn everywhere. Illegal things may have occurred. I think I have met my match. This babydaddy is a keeper. Sorry, Earl. Sorry, Crockett. Sorry, Tubbs.

And today I am staring a lot and eating Peanut Butter Puffins (heck yes, yum) every two hours in lieu of actual meals. I think we should go out more often so I don’t have a Shedonism explosion like this every time. And tonight we are going to the elementary picnic to meet Franny’s new teacher! I am going to buy corndogs at the Quite Fucking Costly to eat while the good moms there serve their progeny something organic! I’ll get to say, “Would you like more eyeballs and assholes in a sweet corn coat, sweetheart?” All this without Franny! So I will get to tell everyone who innocently asks, “Did Franny get off to France alright?” what happened. Suckas!