Friday night dates used to mean at least dinner out, maybe a movie or a drive in the country.
Now Friday night dates mean dinner with whichever members of the extended family can get together, at one house or another.
Tonight it was the home of the Princess and the Ballerina, one of whom was very very tired and just a little pouty.
The pizza was tasty, the homemade chocolate chip cookies (made this afternoon with the Ballerina's help) delicious, and the company was entertaining. Lively conversation made dinner go by quickly,and included a discussion about Santa Claus. (It is, after all, September.)
“I'm really Santa Claus,” confided the grandpa in the group.
“No, you're not,” said the Ballerina.
“Oh yes I am,” said the grandpa with a twinkle in his eye.
After that brief exchange, the conversation shifted; but then as we left, the Ballerina took me aside and said confidentially, “Grandma, I know Grandpa isn't Santa Claus, because then there would have to be a Mrs. Claus with him.”
I nodded thoughtfully, and said, “And I don't look anything like Mrs. Claus, do I?”
The Ballerina nodded quite seriously and said, “No, Grandma, you don't. You just look like your own self.”