Why I Love Date Night (It's the Dessert)

Last night, Hubs unexpectedly asked me on a date. I say unexpectedly because he works 70-80 hour weeks so just playing footsie together is usually impossible, let alone an entire evening with a DATE. Of course I said yes, promptly called the babysitter (my mom) and drove my son over to her at sound barrier breaking speed.

We went to dinner and it was lovely. We shared a pitcher of beer and talked about whatever and ate yummy food. Hubs wasn't that hungry so we just got one entree and shared it. So after eating only half a meal, it left ample room for dessert. That's right, dessert.

There's a bakery in my city that's kindof a big deal but I have never been to it. So we went. I walked in and knew I was in trouble. I am really not kidding when I say I was looking through the glass for 10 (ten!) minutes trying to decide what I would get. Finally I decided that it was pretty much impossible to only order one thing.

So I picked three things: a lemon bar, a napolean, and a kiwi-strawberry tarte.



Hubs couldn't resist and was probably hungry again by the time I made my decision, so he also ordered the bread pudding. I got the treats to go so it looked like I wasn't going to eat them in one sitting. The good news is that I didn't like the lemon bar so I didn't eat it. The other treats, however, were devoured quickly. (To be fair to my fat cells, I should tell you that my mom and son had some bites too.)

Maybe I should rethink my theory about how the fertility drugs are making me fat?