February 20 The conversation dangles, but at least there are no superficial sighs.

We always have a special family dinner for Valentine’s Day:  spaghetti, cherry 7 Up, red velvet cake, and cherry Jello in a heart-shaped mold.  (One year I made a heart-shaped meatloaf, but it clashed with the rest of the food.)

So Ed and I go out for our Romantic Dinner the Saturday after Valentine’s Day.  I root in my closet for a dress and heels, run out to buy panty hose, and find someone to stay with the kids.  Ed makes the reservation after I decide where we’re going to eat.  (Not because I’m bossy, but because he doesn’t care as long as it’s not Thai, which he says tastes like Lemon Pledge.)

Betsey and Cilla helped me accessorize while Josh hung around and argued about how late they could stay up.   Ed’s mother Janet arrived with three pizzas (plain, pepperoni, and pineapple) and enough cookies to put the children in a sugar stupor.

And we were off.

“So,” I said in the car, “what are you going to get?”

Ed didn’t want to make a commitment until he’d seen the menu.

The problem with Saturday night dates is that you’ve been together all day and have used up most of the available topics of conversation.

Of course, on the drive, there is always the traffic.

At the restaurant you can talk about the parking, the crowd, and what you are going to eat, since now you have to make a commitment.

And you can always discuss the occasionally heart-warming or more often annoying antics of the children and pets.

This year we were lucky because we could talk about the murder. I analyzed Margaret’s character and offered several scenarios of who could have done it.

Ed said he couldn’t believe that they’d gotten his steak just right and asked me if I was going to eat my share of the garlic bread or what.

Finally you can debate whether to have dessert, get one and share it, or just have coffee (or tea in my case.)  Since this was our Special Romantic Dinner, I had strawberry cheesecake.  Ed doesn’t like strawberries.  He had apple pie a la mode. He got wild and crazy and had cinnamon ice cream instead of vanilla.

There weren’t any movies we wanted to see.  I wanted to go parking, but Ed said it was too cold.

So we went home.  The kids were watching an old monster movie and dropping cookie crumbs all over the couch.  Ed grabbed a slice of pizza (only plain was left) and sat down with them.

Janet and I tidied up in the kitchen and talked about the murder for an hour and a half.