Pockets Of Joy

While on date night recently, my husband and I took in the Brave New Workshop’s production of A Snowplow Named Desire. We loved every moment of it’s wacky hilarity, self-depreciating Minnesota humor, and bits of naughtiness. (We attended the 5 p.m. show, so the naughtiness factor grows into the later hours. I’m told.)

We had arrived a few minutes before the door was scheduled to open thinking we’d have to wait outside, but the friendly staff invited us in with a hardy, “We’ve been expecting you! Please come in.” As my husband picked up the tickets at the counter I discreetly asked where the bar was located. “You can’t swing a dead cat around here without hitting a bar,” I was told. That useful information was followed by, “And, the more you drink the funnier we are.”

From across the room the bartenders and I made eye contact. I decided, since it WAS date night, that I should wait for my husband before sprinting across the room and pleading for a chardonnay. The woman who had let us in the door noticed my longing. “You’re going to stand there making awkward shuffling motions until they come to you, right?” I laughed. I also stayed put.

A few moments later my husband took my hand and we wandered over to the bar. I did get my chardonnay, and he followed suit. We played Farkle on his iPhone, sipped wine, and waited for the show to start. Since we had plenty of time I decided on a second glass of wine, while my husband opted for a mixed drink. It was named Dirty Panties, or, Sex on a Pool Table, or some such thing. He let me have a sip and it was good stuff, but I think he just wanted to hear me say, “Can I have more Sex on a Pool Table? Please?”

ANYWAY, each time we bought a drink the bartender would give us a coupon for $1 off the next drink. Since we stopped at two apiece, my husband tucked the coupons in his pant’s pocket.

The next day we went to church—and no we weren’t there to confess our misdeeds of the night before. At least I wasn’t. Husband’s misdeeds? Mmmmhhhhmmm. When the collection plate came around my husband reached into his pocket to retrieve the church envelope and nearly put the $1 off drink coupons in the plate instead. We both looked at each other, tried desperately not to, but got the full-on giggles as fellow parishioners wondered why we were being disrespectful. “Do you think we could get a deal on the communion wine?” I whispered. More giggles. More shoulder shaking. More “I must avoid eye contact with you or I will lose it completely.”

I chose to believe God has a sense of humor in or out of church, and getting giggles with my husband over his pocket fishing was the best part of my day.