Date Night

The evening began at a restaurant where Dennis and I enjoyed an American-style burger and fries, or in Dennis' case, onion rings.  After that we wandered to the hardware store, where we admired the shiny shelving units that were priced triple the amount that they were at the last store in which we had shopped- in Canada.

After watching a rousing movie during which the baby jumped at every bass noise, we made our way down to the taxi line.  Not wishing to stand behind 40 other people who were already there waiting for the slowly trickling-in taxis, we walked out to the busy street to try to catch something there instead.

We happily joined the crowd on the sidewalk and walked toward the corner to cross the busy street- affectionately referred to by us as "Killer Corner."  Suddenly our sidewalk was illuminated by bright lights; a cube truck was also inhabiting the path and was slowly moving toward us!  We stepped to one side to allow him to pass but the driver, surely a gentleman of the first degree, motioned for us to shimmy our way past him before he moved.

There were wooden crates stacked along the sidewalk as well, and finding that we only had a small amount of clearance we had to turn sideways to get through the crack between the back of the cube truck and the crates.  Unfortunately, my shirt managed to get caught on a strategically stacked broken crate and a hole ripped open right on the front of me.

Not as discouraged by this turn of events as I was, Dennis convinced me to sling my purse over my other arm to conceal the hole and accompany him to the nearby Chow King for some halo-halo.  As we  crossed Killer Corner I managed to scurry ahead of the gaggle of motorcycles but poor Dennis, who thought I was on his left, was stranded in the middle of the intersection frantically looking around for his wife as the taxis and motorcycles honked their displeasure.

We sat down in the murky air of Chow King to enjoy our ice-cream-less halo-halo (out of stock, ma'am).  I was happily recounting the now hilarious incongruity of ripping my shirt on our date night when suddenly I witnessed a man smacking himself directly into the glass wall of the restaurant near the door, knocking his glasses to the ground and leaving a wet grease-smudge on the window.  He quickly found his glasses and scurried away, deciding that saving face was more honorable at that moment than actually entering the real door of the restaurant and ordering his nightly snack of noodles.

We ended our nice evening out with Dennis trying to board the same taxi twice, only to discover after each failed attempt that there were not one, but two ladies lurking in the shadows inside.