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All I wanted was a nice dinner.  An adult dinner.  I've been craving male companionship, but god hasn't been jumping through his ass to send someone my way, so I settled for my parents.  When my mom called and asked what I was doing for dinner, then my kid ripped her poopy diaper off right in front of me, so I had to go clean that up, and then call her back, all I wanted was to go someplace and watch a basketball game and have a drink.

My life is all one big run-on sentence.

We went to my favorite (slightly pricey) Italian place.  Despite getting there early (5-ish) we still had a 40-minute wait, so at the moment we were just getting to the table, my kid had already outlived her normal "being good" time. 

I'll save you the details.  Suffice it to say that noone at the table went home without some type of food or chocolate milk - or both, in my case - either on their clothes or in their hair - again, both, in my case.  We provided a healthy dose of birth control motivation to the young attractive couple in the booth near us.  I can't tell you what my food tasted like, or my wine.  (I had wine?  Oh yea, I sucked it down in between shoving bites of food in my mouth while my kid cried in my mothers arms.  Now I remember.)

I love this kid so much it hurts sometimes, but my god, all I want is to go to dinner, and have a glass of wine, and be able to make eye contact with my dinner companions.  And come home without chocolate milk crusting in my hair.

I'm so exhausted I'm going to cry myself to sleep.  And start another day that can be described in run-on sentences.