I just finished a wonderful, romantic dinner date. I set my table (which has probably only been used 3 times in the past 2 years), put down the cloth napkins, opened a bottle of red wine, lit the candles, put on some sexy jazz and took a moment to appreciate the garlic scented air. My date was definitely impressed. I hadn’t put this much effort into cooking dinner in quite some time, and it paid off.

The meal was eaten in that silent kind of pleasure that comes from experiencing delightfully varied, complimentary tastes, shadows and ambiance that signifies a successful culinary endeavor. The fact that I was the only person in the room didn’t detract from the romance; instead it made me feel all the more pampered.

I had almost forgotten the pleasure of eating with manners and a hint of civility, not just huddling over my computer and shoving bare necessity sustenance into my mouth off the side of my desk. I think the darkness and chill of the season reminded me of how much I love candlelit dinners.

I’d like to write more about it but I have to get back to my ‘date.’ I think if I give her just a little more attention and spoiling I might even ‘get lucky’ tonight. Perhaps a long bath and some lingerie are in order. (Now, that’s not why I did it, but hey, take the side benefits wherever you find them, right. *wink*)

I guess the dishes can wait until morning.