The banana blow-out

So, Chuck and I had a lovely anniversary dinner at Mohegan Sun's Tuscany. Even with my limited cooking ability I could have made a better fettuccine with bacon and green peas (salt shaker, anyone?), and the waitress forgot about us for an hour, but that's neither here nor there. I was dining with my amour.

Aw.

And he sat through the whole dinner and didn't need crayons or juice with a straw and he didn't want to sit on my lap and stick his fingers in my food!

There was a banana foster thingamabob on the dessert menu, but Chuck told me he doesn't actually like bananas.

That kind of soured the edible banana negligee I had waiting at home (next post: how to make lingerie with fruit. You heard it here first!).

I guess there's always next year. The traditional gift is wood. Wooden underwear? A wooden trapeze? The possibilities are endless.

One of the best parts of the night was that I could let me bump hang free. I suck it in all day at work and cover it up with jean jackets and large purses (I've also been walking like a hunchback), so it felt nice to let it flap in the wind. Seriously, I felt like a freak with an extra appendage who was finally able to dangle it in public, without my co-workers pointing and exclaiming, "She's pregnant again?!"

I'm telling my boss on Monday.

Gulp.

Happy weekend.