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It's a lot to pay for something that could make you nauseous. But sooner or later we all take the ride.
The breathless thrills, the highs, the lows, that tingling in places you didn't think could tingle (press button to stop metaphor), dating is love's amusement park. My dates would say it was love's chamber of horrors, but you get the idea.
Those of us experienced in such matters know there are three phases to the dating cycle: 1) Pre-nuptial; 2) post-nuptial; and 3) going to the 7 p.m. movie because you have to get home to fold clothes. By taking the following test, known as the Date-O-Meter, you can determine which phase you're in.
Do you go out to dinner but can't eat because you're gazing endlessly into the eyes of your date? This means you're in phase one. Get out quickly. Man may not live by bread alone, but occasionally peanut butter and jelly is necessary for sustenance.
Have you informed your date that never, EVER again will you eat sushi or go to black and white Swedish movies with subtitles? Psychiatric trauma experts would say that you're in phase two. Not only that, you're suffering from the Stockholm Syndrome. In this phase you are comfortably married and certain she can't divorce you because the mutual funds are still in your name.
Do you no longer base restaurant decisions on whether you get to keep the Sippy Cup? But do you still need to be home by 11 because that's when the prom is over and the coed sleepover is at your house? Then you're in phase three -- ready to resume grown-up dating but not so unfettered that you can throw a thong in the valise and spend a madcap weekend at the Hotel Nacionale in Mexico City.
That last stop in the dating game is where we currently find ourselves after nearly 20 years of marriage. Thanks to the age of our children and their irrational loathing of parents in argyle, we've got time alone. Problem is, we're not sure what to do with it.
At least we weren't until last weekend. Then we went to Orinda.
Turns out that the ideal re-entry date destination has been right under our nose all along. It's just down the freeway and next door to the Christian Science Reading Room. This is good. Given my history with romance, a little spiritual support couldn't hurt.
Downtown Orinda (defined as that portion of the city with sidewalks) is built around the Orinda Theater. It has restaurants, an ice cream parlor and Starbuck's -- the three criteria used by the Census Bureau to determine a Metropolitan Statistical Area.
For the past 15 years we've visited often. But only on that first date as parents of stay-at-home children did we discover its true potential.
We saw what the industry calls "a little independent movie." By "little" we mean it was in the Orinda Theater's cozy, 47-seat Auditorium No. 3. I've seen bigger phone booths. But the seats were comfortable and the movie, "Waitress," was an "art" film (which pleases my wife) in a language I understood -- lust and pie.
After the movie we had dinner. And here's the best part: we didn't fight about it.
I chose a curbside table at swank Kasper's Hot Dogs. Down the block for her was a tasty Greek diner; across the street -- takeout sushi. This was a blessing. No more mystery date, wondering if somewhere we could find that rare restaurant that fit her taste (exotic) and my budget (like the Chinese yuan, kept artificially low to produce a favorable balance of trade).
She ran off for sushi. I asked her to bring me some too since our investments are jointly owned. We ate outdoors like young lovers at a Paris café, except for the cell phone calls from home seeking permission to make s'mores on the kitchen range and order "Kick Boxing Smack Down" on Pay for View.
It was almost heaven. And the good news is we can do this again without fear of repetition or Audrey Tautou movies. The Orinda Theater screens three films every night. One of them is bound to be in English, although there is the risk of prolonged exposure to Kevin Costner.
As for restaurants: we haven't even begun to tap downtown Orinda's potential. There's Italian (La Piazza), American (Casa Orinda) and Hofbrau (note to kids: Think of this as the Teutonic Katz' Deli).
We're so excited about re-entry dating that we're even thinking of a parents-only sleepover. If only Orinda had a motel.
But that's down the road. For now we're just grateful to be back in the amusement park of the heart, frolicking in our own tunnel of love. There's just one fear: the light at the end of the tunnel.
Contra Costa Times
By Mike Zampa
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