It goes something like this.
"Rob, what do you want for dinner?" Please say donuts.
"Cheap pizza or good pizza?"
I suppose I can get down with that.
Good pizza means Tomato Pie. Let's talk about the reasons I love this place: Closeness, bottomless fountain beverage-ness, smallness but not such smallness as to lead to uncomfortability, and booths! I can't possibly be alone in my love of restaurant booths. A good booth can really make or break a dining experience, no? Is anyone else still lame enough to sit on the same side of the booth as their spouse? Nope? Moving right along....
Since I'd already eaten a turkey sandwich the size of a small cat earlier in the day, I opted for a salad tonight. A salad of such startling deliciousness that I only had two bites of Rob's scrumptious slice of Syracuse. (Rob has started demanding that I let him know if I'm going to want to taste his food before he orders so he can make sure he gets more. He says he's going to punch my dad in the face for teaching me that "one bite" somehow translates to "half the damn pizza.")
Dinner in the neighborhood means that we can get it done with ample time to run home and watch Modern Family. This is a cause for a jubilant celebration unless, of course, Modern Family turns out to be a re-run. Like tonight, for example. But with bellies full of cheesey, doughy, chicken-y goodness, the Whalens will happily settle for back-to-back episodes of SVU, tax preparation, and a futon snuggle session.
Another successful date night, I'd say.