If you add up the cost of a babysitter, the cost of a dinner at a restaurant that is not kid-friendly (and who wants to go to any other kind when you’re sans kids), and the cost of a movie (or better yet, transportation into NYC and a Broadway play!), you’ve come to a number that is larger than our entertainment budget for the year (Mannahatta Mamma puts the starting price for dinner and a movie at $100–and that’s from within the city). So—in an effort to save money, be a sexy, romantic wife (who is more than mere mom! In mommish jeans!), and be engaged in an adult activity—I wink suggestively at The Scientist and offer him a “Tuesday Night Special.” This term, at the moment, has no particular meaning, but I figure The Scientist can happily ascribe some to it.
I assume The Scientist will wink back and assure me he is counting the minutes until the kids fall asleep. Instead, he points out that it’s Wednesday. As if time were accounted for by the stay-at-home mom! (a term I only half-prefer to unemployed). The suggestive comment, meant to be sly and go unnoticed by the children, becomes such a focal point of conversation, that LL, I see, is paying close attention. He is quiet, though . . . for the moment.
But he does not forget the conversation. Not at all. In fact, by Saturday, he is waxing poetic about the “Tuesday Night Special,” to which he has now attributed a meaning: it’s pizza night. Tuesday night is pizza night! Tuesday night is pizza night! Can we go today to find a pizzeria? For Tuesday night! The best night of the week! The night of the Tuesday Night Special!
So much for saving money.