This past week was my tenth anniversary with my honey. She still likes me for some reason. I’m grateful and blessed and blissed. I’m also so very glad she can take a hint. For the past two years I have been STRONGLY suggesting she take me to my boyfriend’s restaurant.
This weekend, she did.
But before we could even leave the house, our wonderful babysitter/friend brought me an extremely bloggable moment from her son, who I call Hymen on the blog. Apparently Hymen was not happy when she told him she was coming over here to watch Cakie.
“But! But!! That’s not fair! Cakie has one, two moms! He does not need one, two, THREE moms!”
Dinner at Harold’s was fun, too. The food was a whole lot of fun, despite a withering NYT review. I had the “Tasting of Three Piggies.” Sorry vegetarians. But if I could eat three piggies I would. It was so very Top Chef to have three little things to eat on the plate. I would describe it, if I had enough brain cells after giving birth to have enough memory for that. One was a “pig booty” pate, one was a yummy tender sliced somethingorother, and one was “wild boar” wrapped in something crispy. Ah, my future as a food critic: not looking so bright. I ate them in the wrong order. The cold pate should have been first. As my honey noted she warned me before I started eating. But I survived. I felt kind of bad because we were high-maintenance wine drinkers, sending two glasses back.
Anyway. After dinner we strolled (sans stroller, of course) through the West Village. I haven’t spent much time in Manhattan since we had Cakie. I was pleased to see that it is still teeming with young lesbians. We walked out to the pier and looked at the Statue of Liberty. It was perfect.
I just had to tell you all about the three moms. And the three piggies.