W and I are going away for the weekend. Actually, just Saturday night, but it’s still a big deal because we rarely go anywhere without the kids.
A few months ago, I found a Groupon for a new casino that had just opened up about 15 minutes from our house. For $99 you got a $50 dining credit, a $50 slot credit and an overnight stay in the adjoining hotel. Sweet.
Have I mentioned that I love Groupon just about as much as I love Heidi Klum?
I figured that if I purchased the Groupon W and I would have to commit to going away and finding a babysitter.
W told the kids that they were going to be staying with their grandparents. When they asked why, she attempted to explain the value of the Groupon.
Basically, they thought it was a rip off because, in the end, we were only netting $1.
W commented that when you have babysitting the Groupon is worth like a million dollars.
I would definitely pay a million bucks for a night with W. It would be like our own lesbian Indecent Proposal.
The kids really have no idea as to how much things cost.
You could show them a bag of rocks and they might think that it costs $36. A tank of gas? Maybe only $10. I know that I never really learned the value of money until I started working at McDonald’s when I turned 16.
Minimum wage was $3.35 an hour back then. I had to wear a brown polyester uniform, get up at 5:30 a.m. on weekends and clean out a fast-food bathroom that was too dirty for me to use without lining the seat with cheeseburger wrappers. You do the math.
Anyway, W and I are excited about our big weekend. We’re meeting some friends there and will be having a nice Italian dinner Saturday evening. I want a glass of red wine. Or two. I’ve been jonesing for a Kir Royale. Or two.
Hoping that the anticipation and excitement doesn’t supersede the actual weekend.
Because, truth be told, I haven’t been able to think of anything else this week. Just being alone with W.