Reason #24 Why My Marriage is Just Like Yours

I don’t know. What do YOU want to do?

As all married couples can attest—particularly those with children—a date night is something to be relished. Something rare to be cherished and appreciated. So why in the hell is it such a chore to figure out what we want to do when relieved of our children for the evening? The following conversation—which I am sure will look painfully familiar to all of you married couples out there—usually occurs while in the car. Barreling down Highway 35W at 65 miles per hour. After having just left our beloved children with a babysitter. On our way to…ummm…nowhere, as it turns out.

Me: So….what do you want to do tonight?
Her: I don’t know. What do you want to do?
Me: Ummm….I am up for anything.
Her: Okay. Like what?
Me: Well….we could go get something to eat first.
Her: Sure. I could eat.
Me: What sounds good to you?
Her: Hmm….I don’t know. What sounds good to you?
Me: Well, I could really go for anything.
Her: Me too. I am hungry so I could eat anything.
Me: Are you in the mood for something fast? Or do you want to sit down and take our time somewhere?
Her: I don’t want fast food.
Me: Okay. What kind of food are you in the mood for?
Her: Ummm….I could do Italian or Mexican. Or Chinese. I could do American, too.
Me: Okay…that narrows it down.
Her: Is there anything close to here that sounds good to you?
Me: Close to here? We’re on 35W. We could go anywhere from here.
Her: Okay. But where do you want to go?
Me: Umm….I don’t care. Where do you want to go?
Her: I really, truly don’t care. Just pick someplace.
Me: Okay. How about El Loro?
Her: Oh. Really? That doesn’t sound so good to me.
Me: But you said anywhere was fine with you.
Her: Anywhere but there.
Me: Okay…you pick someplace then.
Her: Okay…what about that Italian place?
Me: Umm….what Italian place?
Her: That one…you know.
Me: No, I don’t know.
Her: You know.
Me: Really, I don’t.
Her: Yea you do…the one over by that donut shop that closed.
Me: Donut shop?
Her: Yea…there was that donut shop.
Me: What donut shop?
Her: I can’t remember the name of it.
Me: So you want to go to the Italian restaurant whose name you don’t know next to the donut shop that closed—whose name you also don’t know?
Her: Don’t be a smartass.
Me: I’m not. I just don’t know what you’re talking about.
Her: Yes you do.
Me: No, I don’t.
Her: Yea, you do.
Me: No, really I don’t.
Her: Yea…you went there with your brother the last time he was in town.
Me: Ohhh…..Al Vento?
Her: Yea! That’s it!
Me: You don’t like that place.
Her: I don’t?
Me: Remember? You didn’t like their chicken the last time we were there. And you said their service sucked.
Her: Oh, right. I don’t like that place.
Me: I know. So where do you want to go?
Her: I don’t know. Where do you want to go?
Me: I don’t know.

For the love of God, people! Just pick someplace already! You are irritating the shit out of me! Seriously. Don’t you just want to smack them? In the head? With a baseball bat?

This conversation—and the dozens just like it that have occurred on Twin Cities’ roads throughout the last 15 years—is just one more reason that my marriage is just like your marriage.