Ignore the Cheery Purple ColorFriday night was a "date night."
"It's a beautiful day," Gloria said about 5:30. "Let's go somewhere to eat where we can sit outside."
"Outside?" I asked. "Do I need a sleeping bag?"
"What?" she asked.
"Camping gear," I said. "Tent, Coleman stove, a skivvy bag or something? What about those special goggles for bright conditions that mountain climbers use?"
"All right, you can bring your DS," she said. "And I'll drive."
This was a landmark moment. That sentence "You can bring your DS" has never been uttered in this house.
"I'll be happy to sit outside," I said. "And thank you for volunterring to drive in hellish rush hour traffic, which is suddenly no longer my problem."
The drive to the restaurant was surprisingly smooth, at least for me, because I was playing Shiren the entire time.
"Thiefwalrus! Bitch!" I shouted.
"Did you say walrus?" she asked. We were stopped dead on the highway.
"Ignore the cheery purple color," I said. "They steal."
We pulled into the parking lot and I put the DS into the glove compartment. "Key, please," I said.
"Key? What for?" Gloria asked.
"I need to lock the glove compartment," I said.
"You're kidding," she said. "I'm locking the car."
"I've got a shield stashed in Mountaintop Village that's plus-fourteen armor ward plus half hunger and protection from thiefwalruses," I said. "I have to take the proper precautions. If the car got stolen, we have insurance, and but if I lose the game card, all my career data will be lost."
"And...," she said.
"It would be like being a carpenter for seven years, then one day you wake up and someone says 'Hey! You were never a carpenter.' That's devastating."
"We're both devastated," she said.