So Nick announces that he's going to whisk me away to a much-needed overnight stay at The W (funded by a gift certificate that's been burning a hole in his wallet for quite some time)—no kids, no friends. Just us. This, of course, makes me giddy. There will be a nice dinner. And dessert. And drinks. Perhaps an in-room movie. Great hotel sex (don't front—you know what I'm talking about!). And sleep. Lots of sleep.
He barely gets the announcement past his lips before I'm running to the closet, trying to find something to wear to our hot night out. Alas, practically every last one of my cutest outfits are in the "needs to go to the dry cleaners" hamper, and only one dress—the one I wore to our last hot date night—is striking the right notes.
Me: Aw man, I want to wear something nice, but the only thing I have is this blue dress.
Nick: I like that blue dress.
Me: But I wore this one out with you already.
Nick: I don't care—it's a hot dress. Especially if it means you're not going to buy another dress.