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Remember When Going Out Used to END with Puking?

A few weekends ago, another couple asked us to go out to dinner. Adult evenings being few and far between, this was an exciting proposition.

They gave us about a month lead-time so we were easily able to secure a sitter, we emailed back and forth about potential eating establishments eventually reaching agreement and then anxiously awaited the big night.

Unfortunately, on the day of the “momumentous event”, the other couple called to say their sitter fell through. They suggested we still have dinner at their place, we should just bring Mazzy. All the kids (they have two) could play while we attempted to have ourselves a dinner party at home.

Okay, sure.

I still wore something pretty and got Mazzy dolled up for the occasion. Our friends live out in the ‘burbs so we had to travel by car along with a diaper bag, alternative food options, preferred cutlery, pajamas for the ride home and lastly, a pack ‘n play on the off chance that Mazzy couldn’t hack staying up a little later than usual and needed to be “put down”.

After thirty minutes in the car, we pulled into the driveway of our friends’ house and I climbed into the back to get Mazzy out of the carseat.

As I pulled her out (me in the middle of the backseat with her facing toward me), she gave me a funny look.

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