After months of juggling house parties, outings with other couples, kids’ events, and family activities, I climbed to the proverbial mountaintop and declared, “We are going to have a date night—just the two of us—and we are going to have fun!”

This sudden proclamation was a little out of character for me, but we needed it. We’d been pouring so much energy into others that it felt like the right time to redirect that focus back to us. To be fair, our relationship was already riding a high—we were connecting on a level that doesn’t come around often—but this felt like the next step to keep that energy alive. I felt that I needed to step up and plan a night of fun.

Historically, our standard date nights followed a familiar pattern: dinner, then an awkward round of “What do you want to do now?” I don’t drink when I’m driving, and Elise doesn’t enjoy drinking solo, so our post-dinner options were usually limited to browsing a bookstore or strolling through a random store. Fun, but not exactly the kind of night that leaves you reminiscing for weeks.

After descending from my mountaintop, Elise had some follow-up questions. “So, what’s the plan? Where are we eating? What are we doing after?”

This time, I was prepared. A few weeks ago, we’d met another couple at a local bar/restaurant for drinks. We’d taken an Uber so we could both relax and enjoy a drink or two for once. That night, we’d had more fun together than with the other couple—so much fun, in fact, that they ghosted us shortly after. (That story needs its own post, but I digress.) Back then, the idea of using a rideshare for such a short trip seemed wasteful. Now, I saw it differently: a small expense compared to the cost of an accident or a DUI, and it let us both unwind and have a drink or five.

So, even though I had just gotten done dusting off my pants, I scampered back up the mountain, and proclaimed, “We’re taking a rideshare to that restaurant for dinner, having a drink there, and then hitting at least two bars—maybe even three! Whoa!”

Elise blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, really?” she said with a smirk. “That actually sounds fun. Different, too.” She had her doubts about making it to three bars, but as she said, “it’s good to have goals.”

Date night arrived. The weather was unusually warm for mid-November, with a full moon glowing overhead. Elise thrilled me by wearing one of the dresses I’d bought her for her birthday. It was tight, slightly revealing, and hugged every curve of her body perfectly, as if it had been custom-tailored for her. Seeing my wife in that dress was probably what it felt like to the first person ever to witness the first electric light—radiant, mesmerizing, impossible to look away from. Cliche maybe, but that’s how it felt in my heart. Pauses for audience reaction, “awwwww. How sweet.”

I leaned in for a kiss, and she wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me close. Just as our lips touched, she whispered in my ear, “Don’t get any ideas. Sex is probably off the table tonight—the kid will still be awake when we get home.”

I mentally stomped my feet in disappointment but sighed, knowing she was probably right. Out loud, I said something reassuring like, “That’s okay. A night out with you is reward enough.”

Was it genuine? Let’s just say it sounded convincing to me in my head.

Me being a guy, I wore my best “fancy” jeans, a shirt that perfectly matched her dress and a nice pair of shoes that matched everything nicely. While waiting for our ride, I poured us a quick shot of whiskey for good luck. Drink #1.

Our ride arrived, and we bid a dramatic farewell to our daughter: “Please, for the love of Pete, don’t wait up!” And with that, we were out the door.

At the restaurant/bar, we ordered drinks #2 and an appetizer to kick things off.  Mid-conversation about our recent exploits, both our phones chimed with a notification from “the Neons” (our friends, whose antics are a saga for another time). Elise glanced at her smartwatch, smirked, and muttered, “Speak of the devil.”

We sent them a quick reply but kept it brief—tonight was about us.

The drinks and the appetizer were fantastic, though the main course was just okay. Normally, a mediocre meal could have taken the wind out of our sails, but the wind was still steady against our backs and after we both had drinks #3, we had nothing but clear skies and smooth sailing ahead. Ok, enough of the damn nautical metaphors.

The real test began after dinner. “What now?” we asked each other. “Should we head home?”

No, of course not. It was only 9 p.m., and the night was still young, wrapped in the kind of beautiful weather that begged us to stay out longer. We decided to stroll a few blocks to one of our favorite upscale restaurants for another drink or more.

The place was lively, packed with people, but I managed to blaze a trail through the crowded room, securing the last two seats at the bar. Settling in, we scanned the menu and landed on espresso martinis for drink #4—a strategic move to keep our energy high and the night rolling. After our trip to Desire Pearl, I think espresso martinis have a special place in our hearts.

Even though the bar area was bursting with people, in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of us. My hand repeatedly traced the smooth curve of her back, fingertips brushing the zipper of her dress, teasing myself with the thought of pulling it down. She leaned in and whispered, “Don’t even think about unzipping my dress here. There are people right behind us.”

I glanced back. Sure enough, there they were. “Huh. When did they show up?”

We laughed, talked, and texted the Neons some more. Another couple we knew popped up in our messages, and suddenly our private date night became a virtual group hangout. Surprisingly, it added to the fun rather than taking away from it.

Last call echoed through the bar at 10 p.m., prompting us to order drink #5. Last call? At 10? I had forgotten we were at a restaurant with a bar, not a dedicated nightlife spot.

At this point, Elise started to feel a little self-conscious. “Are people watching us? Are they talking about how we’re clearly on our way to getting drunk? Are we too old for this?”

I reassured her that we were perfectly fine. “We’re just two people enjoying a night out,” I said, noting that we weren’t being loud, rude, or disruptive. Sure, we were leaning into each other, my arm tracing slow patterns along her back and possibly wearing a path in the fabric of her dress, but we were far from making a scene. We were simply lost in our own little world. “You have nothing to worry about,” I told her.

We left the bar after drink #5 and walked hand-in-hand to bar #3, a beer mecca that is known to have dozens and dozens and dozens of beer on tap. Naturally, we ordered cocktails instead.

Halfway through drink #6, I realized I didn’t need any more booze—not because I felt sick, but because I felt amazing. I was creeping into that rare stage of drunken well-being, where everything takes on an almost out-of-body, animated quality. The world felt like a hybrid of dream and reality, a whimsical haze where every sensation seemed heightened.

I don’t usually notice these otherworldly effects unless I’m standing and moving, which is exactly what I was doing as I searched for the men’s room. After asking two different employees for directions, it dawned on me, I’m the one now questioning how drunk I was appearing.

Eventually, I floated back to the table to find Elise with her nose buried in her phone, texting away to a third couple. As we continued nursing drink #6, the pace of our texting picked up. Silly banter flew between us and our friends, turning our quiet corner of the bar into a buzzing hub of virtual chatter.

The waitress stopped by and asked if we wanted another round. Elise decided to go for one last drink, bringing her tally to #7. I declined, glancing at my still-half-full glass. “No, thank you,” I said, feeling perfectly content to savor what was left of my current drink.

By the time we finished our last drinks, it was midnight—time to call it a night. We stumbled out to the sidewalk, called a ride, and was carried home like royalty in our chariot.

Back home, Elise went upstairs to check on our daughter while I made my way to the couch. Giant glasses of water in hand, I sank into the cushions, still very buzzed.

When she came back downstairs, something had shifted. The mom who went upstairs returned back down as Elise the Hotwife, Elise the Conqueror. Elise the OMG Sex Goddess.

She whispered one word, “Surprise,” and suddenly, my pants vanished. This time it was Elise’s turn to make her way up the proverbial mountain. She sat down on my lap, on top of my peak (get it?) Despite her earlier warning, the night ended with amazing, quiet, long-lasting sexapades. Surprise, indeed.

The next morning, we woke up feeling shockingly decent and celebrated like the rest of humanity does after a night of drinking—by going out for breakfast. While we haven’t planned out another outing, we now know we have a new option for fun.

Moral of the story? Life is short. Smile while you still have teeth.