Once a month The Hubster and I have a date night. It’s a scheduled thing because he is all about schedules and that’s good, because I’m not the best planner. I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of gal. I like to think we balance each other out, but let’s be honest…only one of us needs balancing and you’ll be able to figure out which one by the end of this post.

Anyway, we alternate responsibility for our dates each month. Last month I planned our date. We went to an Indian restaurant for dinner, then to a couples’ Thai Massage training class at our awesome, local yoga studio, Ebb & Flow. The class was a little out of The Hubster’s comfort zone, but we enjoyed discovering that my massage technique is rather painful and that he is a pro at everything he does. Apparently, I massage like a vulture tearing away at flesh, but you know, some people might like that. Not him. But maybe someone. In short, he probably got the raw end of that date, but no worries. He got to plan this month’s date.

This month The Hubster decided to make our date a surprise. Actually, he almost always tries to keep his dates a surprise. It makes it fun…usually. For example, in January he took me to the Cheesecake Factory for dinner, we watched a Christmas parade, and then he’d arranged to borrow our nephew’s car so he could teach me how to drive a stick-shift—something I’d been wanting to learn for a while. I didn’t do so great at it, but he was very patient with me. It was very sweet. So, this month I was excited about my surprise date right up until a few hours before when he told me to wear yoga pants. At first, I thought, oh good. I can wear the same thing I wear every day. It’s a casual date. But then my mind started considering the possibilities. Maybe he wanted me to wear yoga pants because we would actually be doing something active! Challenging! Strenuous! SWEAT PRODUCING! I asked him for more information, but he wouldn’t give it.