Once you have children it takes a lot of planning to coordinate a girl’s night out. Last night our calendars were empty. The men would stay home with the kids. My husband assured me he would leave work on time. I took off the yoga pants and put on clothes. I was even going to wear heels. I was as giddy as a child on Christmas morning. Would I really have adult conversation tonight? I wonder what it is like to have hot food? Alcohol?

The time I expected my husband to arrive came and went. Then, I got the call, ” I ran out of gas.” Let me repeat. He ran out of f-ing gas! How does that happen when driving by a dozen gas stations on his route home. Well, he forgot his wallet. My husband can answer every question on Jeopardy, but couldn’t figure out he didn’t have enough gas in the tank to make it home. I would love to tell you I was an understanding wife. I wasn’t. I was pissed. I am with my children 99.9% of the time. This was my night.

I brought him a gas can, wallet and look of death. Then, I drove away. Five minutes later my phone rang again. “My battery is dead.” Okay, where is Ashton Kutcher? I must be getting punked. Nope. He left his lights on for 25 minutes while waiting for me to alert oncoming cars he had broken down. He isn’t driving a Ford Model T. His SUV came equipped with hazard lights, right?


I lined my minivan up with his SUV.
Unfortunately, we quickly discovered his jumper cables were dead. I am not kidding. I had to drive him to an auto parts store. At this point, by the time I got to the restaurant I would be an hour and a half late to dinner. I called my friends to cancel, but they insisted on waiting. I have great friends!


We had incredible food and conversation. I’m also pretty sure the valet parking attendant was checking me out. What’s sexier than a Mom stepping out of a minivan in knee high hooker boots? Nothing.


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