Note to self: It's generally considered bad form to cry on a date. In future, must reserve crying for more appropriate times. Like after sex.
In totally unrelated news, I went to Gameworks with the Little today. The original plan was to go ice skating, so when I picked her up I asked, "Is there any particular place you'd like to go?" By which I meant "any particular rink." But then she said, "the arcade." I was dressed a little warmly for the arcade, but it was the first time she'd ever expressed any preference for an activity, so I thought I'd go with it.
They really don't make arcades like they used to. That's my official review of Gameworks. They did have an awesome air hockey table though. (If I ever have a basement, I'ma put an air hockey table in it.) The Little ended up trading in her three zillion tickets for a bag of Pop Rocks and some Tootsie Rolls and I took her home all sugared up and jangly, which makes me the best Big ever. (Additional note to self: Remember to vacuum Pop Rocks out of back seat before the weather gets hot.)
And now I will attempt to work on a Saturday night. Why? Because chicks who cry on dates have a lot of free Saturday nights.