The case against Date Night™

Date Night™ is one of those Critical Relationship Tools™ I read about all the time. You have to do Date Night frequently, they say, so that your marriage remains ‘hot’ and ‘fresh’.

Clearly this is the supermarket rotisserie chicken approach to marriage.

Whereas mine is more like your reliable old tuna sandwich. I’ve been making that sandwich for so long that it’s got the perfect amount of mayo and celery, I can construct it with my eyes closed, and its fine sitting in the fridge for a while if I don’t get around to eating it at lunch.

And so, the perfect ‘Date Night’ for me has three elements:

1. Couch
2. Elasticated waist
3. Netflix

It’s about as super-romantic as it sounds.

My husband Keith and I might mess around on our respective laptops for a while.

I’ll read the first two paragraphs of an article and be overly opinionated about it while Keith will fiddle with his algorithms (no euphemism intended.)

We might read the paper and send children with FOMO-induced insomnia (“I can’t get to sleep! What’s happening out here, guys?”) gently back to bed.

Eventually we’ll curl up under a blanket (conveniently left on the couch) and watch whatever show is our current binge-watch. We consider this to be the pinnacle of civilisation: we are warm, safe, fed and entertained.

We live like goddamn Pharoahs, and it’s just a Tuesday night.

Going out at night is hard work

I think fancy Date Nights are one of those things you don’t have to do anymore once you’ve stopped performing for potential mates and chosen your lucky winner. Similar to hedge-trimming your bikini line and pretending you don’t poo.

Going out at night has a few strikes against it, in my book. The music gives me a headache, the chairs are uncomfortable and I am constantly doing mental arithmetic: if I get to bed at (x) I can still get (y) hours sleep.

Plus, you have to wear shoes.   

Date Night vs Girls’ Night Out

I should point out that I think a Girls’ Night Out™ is an entirely different animal and separate to any Date Night angst. The girls’ night out is mandatory for good mental health – if mothers don’t let their hair down a minimum of twice a year, we will actually explode in a terrifying shower of resentment and fury.

Unlike the solo Girls’ Night Out, a big proper Date Night out requires a Sunday morning sleep-in for both of you. And, let’s face it, we relinquish our right to simultaneous lie-ins the moment we lose our mucous plug.

Still, there is a caveat; the exception that proves the rule. Every once in a while, perhaps perhaps monthly, but most likely annually, you and your partner really must cut loose together. 

Pass out like professionals

There can be no designated driver, because it’s necessary for both parties to get at least two sheets to the wind. The optimal intoxication level is PSPV: post-slurring, pre-vomiting. Event parties are good for this: weddings, 40ths, school functions, etc. 

You should share a 2am kebab with your beloved, before making it home to pass out like professionals, focusing carefully on one corner of the room so that it spins gently enough to allow the gin-and-tonic general anesthetic to kick in before your seedy nausea activates your gag reflex. You’re old and wise enough to know this exact tipping point by now. 

Once you’ve recovered from your top night out, you will doubly appreciate the standard Date Night. For the next year, you can hit the couch together, watching Scandi-Noir while your fingers brush with just a slight frisson in the bowl of Aldi-brand salt n’ vinegar chips.

You can wink at each other, happy to be exactly where you are, and delighted to leave the night-life to the youngsters, who have the intestinal fortitude and the shaven pudendum to handle it.

Do you Date Night?

Image by Jens Kreuter