The eve of “Date Night” was upon us. My husband and I decided to open a bottle of bubbly and get down to it.
Now, hang on…I know where your mind is going…SO DON’T GO THERE! Let’s be clear: this date wasn’t about anything untoward, so get your mind out of the gutter! It was actually a date to read through California’s 17 Propositions and discuss them.
Spread out before us on our kitchen table were our ballot tools: black Stabilo pens (husband’s favorite), our California Election Guide (slightly wrinkled from the rain last week), and my computer open to two websites. His choice: an NPR Station with brief snippets of information on each prop, and my choice: an emoji filled easy-to-understand-for-the-masses voter guide. Last but not least, some homemade crock-pot chicken noodle* soup (truly for our election-weary souls) and a bottle of Bubbly (of course). Which paired awfully well with the Proposition-studying if I might add (but maybe not so much with the chicken soup.)
I said it was sexy, yes?
We decided on an Iron Horse Russian Cuveé from 2007, which seemed fitting in that it has a long history with the White House, being served there through five consecutive Presidential administrations (and was originally made for the meetings that ended the Cold War.) It was a rich and yeasty bubbly, with a nose veering on slightly stinky Red Hawk cheese, and I think in it’s age it lost some of it’s fizz. But it was a welcome and complimentary supplement to the night’s ballot activities.
Studiously, we went through each Prop, listening intently to the radio snippets, discussing and debating them, chuckling at the emoji’s (and the Porn Proposition…how is this even a thing we are voting on?), flipping between multiple sources of information to eventually arrive at our own conclusions. We stayed up past our adult bedtimes, laughing, talking, bellies full of the historically-styled Russian Cuveé…and all because we decided to make something pleasurable and fun out of what could have been just another ordinary evening.
And now here we are tonight, on the precipice of the election day that will surely change history. I’ll beg my husband one last time to whisper in my ear his nightly sweet nothings about how a certain slightly orange-hued man will not possibly be named President. Ask him to tell me we’ll go to bed Tuesday night with hope of inclusion and forward motion for this country.
That’s pretty sexy, too.
And lastly, she may not be perfect, but what an enormous thrill to fill in a certain Nasty Woman’s name on that Presidential ballot.
Let’s make history tomorrow. I’ll toast to that.
*Not noodles, quinoa. It’s a no-wheat thing.