When your Friday night dates habitually entail Netflix, copious amounts of ice cream, and trying to get through the West Wing like it's some sort of competition, you forget what strapping on a pair of heels, putting on an extra coat of mascara, and slapping your husband's butt in public can feel like.
So we dressed up. AND paid a sitter (who the heck are we?).
And although we were the only couple with kids and without some sort of hard liquor in-hand amongst a bunch of hot, single, 20-somethings, I have to say we enjoyed great conversation and company, and ate our weight in whatever those fancy hors devours were.
Small piece of advice: Prior to going to going to fancy, rich-people parties, it's crucial to pre-game. You wouldn't want to sit at the food table the entire time like an idiot because you were naive enough not to fill up beforehand. (Still totally sat at the food table the whole time).
We recommend sharing a couple of things at a food truck.
The Picnic never, ever lets us down.
Had to get a dramatic photo beneath that deer head. HAD to.
Until next time, I'll meet you in your penguin pajamas and monkey mug full of Oreo Breyers on the couch every Friday at 8pm sharp.