Last night was Archie's work holiday party. We got all fancy and had an evening out. We ate at a (or as Archie likes to say, probably the) French restaurant here in Fremont. It was very delicious. I had a struggle about dessert. They had a chocolate souffle, but we were headed over to San Francisco for the party, so we wanted something we could get a little faster. And then I noticed the flambe menu. (Please imagine the accent over the "e".)
I love flaming desserts. So we had Cherries Jubilee, because how can you go wrong with cherries, liqueur, sugar, orange, ice cream, and fire? You can't, is what I'm saying.
We chatted and talked and drank (just a little) at the party. They had a swing band and some people were dancing. Archie and I swore we'd take dancing lessons for the millionth time. I would love to learn how to really dance, not my bobbing hopping Snoopy dance. Which looks pretty stupid when I'm wearing heels.
The kicker was I still felt like I was playing dress-up, even though I'm 40 and that's definitely a grown up age, right? 40 year olds dress up and eat fancy flaming desserts and drink champagne and all that. And I know I'm at least a little grown up because I put my dress on a hanger and my glittery shoes in their shoebox before I went to bed. I'm so responsible.