I think he likes me!

Dave and I work different shifts, which makes seeing each other during the week difficult. We usually sit next to each other and watch Brian Williams on the news and call that "quality time," but then he has to go back to work and I wait 'til it's a reasonable time to go to bed. He gets home after that reasonable point.

I get bored and restless when it's just the dog and I at home for too long (he doesn't have a lot to say, that Mr. Big), so I feel like I just want to do something. Anything. Get me out of here. And the miserable return of winter isn't helping.

"Dave, let's go on a date," I said yesterday, while we were watching Williams. (I said that just to make the alliteration.)

"Huh? Like a real date?"

"Yeah. You have to pick me up and everything. I'll be in the living room and you can be in the kitchen, and you can come tell me when it's time to go."

"OK ... what do you want to do?"

This is the problem. I don't know. I didn't really date. Ever.

I'm from the "let's hang out" crowd; the one who spent all her time with her boyfriend just ... hanging out, for lack of better word. There was no pick up point, no dinner and a movie, no drop off at the front porch. We went to friends' houses or the bar with friends, or we'd go out to eat first, then hang out with friends. Or we'd feel old and married before our time and sit at home and watch Turner Classic Movies ... Ah.

No dates. I feel like I should be picking out nail polish and saying "ohmygosh" on the phone a lot to a girl friend about it. (That is exactly what I'm doing, only they call it "blogging.")

So, this should be interesting. So far, I've come up with "well, we could finish laundry and then grab a drink and some Mexican food. Then we can come home and fall asleep watching Leno." I must be lame, because that actually sounds fun and entertaining and sweet to me. Very Dave and Erin.

Nothin' says "love" like a quesadilla and dryer sheets.