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Recently, I was reading an article called "10 Ways to Bring Back the Romance in Your Marriage." I immediately showed it to Kenny and asked him, smiling, "What do you think? Should we try some of these?" He instantly got that panicked looked he reserves for conversations of this nature, undoubtedly imagining the 101 things he doesn't want to do to put the spice back in a marriage he thinks is fine just the way it is.

Let's start with #3, I suggested. It's simple. Make a Date Night, like we did when we were, well…dating. You know, get dressed up, go out to a romantic restaurant, gaze into each other's eyes like besotted fools, spend several hours reassuring each other of our mutual, eternal love, then go home and make passionate love all night long, finally curling up together like a human corkscrew, falling asleep in a state of Phase 1 bliss. Kenny looked over and surprised me with "Sure. Why not?"

Well, hot damn. Mama's going on a date.

First task: Pick a night. Saturday? Nope, kids are coming for the weekend. Okay. The next one? Can't do it. Working all weekend. Fine. The one after that? Uh-uh. That's your annual golf trip. For heaven's sake. The one after that?? It'll work?? Great.

Next, pick a restaurant. "How about the Mexican restaurant?" "Not a chance," Kenny replied, "The last time I ate there, it took me 3 days to digest the giant cheeseball stuck in my intestines." (Yeah, no romance needed here.) "Okay, then. How about Thai food?" "Don't know what that is," he stated, "And if I don't recognize it, I'm not eating it." "Fine. We like that one downtown with the deck and the great view. How about that?" "Isn't that the place that serves those complimentary crab thingies? I threw up all night, remember?" Could've done without that visual, but okay, crab cakes are out. "Let's just settle for the historic hotel, with dinner out on the patio. Deal?" Done.

Now what to wear?

As I perused by closet, it become clear that my clothing choices had become less about "dancing til they shut this party down" and more about "can I wash this after my baby granddaughter pees on it?" I ransacked my wardrobe, trying on everything I thought might work, but it became rapidly clear that over the years, as my boobs got longer and my butt got wider, my necklines went up and my skirt lengths went down, until I was starting to resemble my great-Aunt Agnes from Idaho, only without the weird under-eye mole and hair snood.

"Where are you going?" Kenny asked, as I grabbed my purse and headed out the door. "Shopping," I said, "I have nothing to wear for Date Night." "I knew it," I heard him mumble to himself, "We haven't even left yet, and it's already costing us a ton of money."

A trip to my favorite boutique quickly unearthed a fabulous (albeit widely overpriced) black jumpsuit, with sexy, slightly-off-the-shoulder sleeves and elegant wide-leg pants. Trying to ignore the tiny voice in my head that said this was actually just a grown-up onesie, I plunked down our credit card with barely enough time for the salesclerk to ask, brightly, "So, what shoes will you be wearing?" Oh crap.

Mentally reviewing my current shoe wardrobe, I knew that I had nothing that would work. Over the years, stilettos had been summarily tossed out to make room for low platforms and sneakers, neither of which scream "Come get me, Big Guy." Date Night required heels. The kind even he knows you can't walk in for more than three steps. And let's get real here. Those shoes weren't actually made for walking. They're for showing off in the bedroom.

The problem was that a) I hadn't worn heels for years, and they require practice to prevent humiliating and decidedly unsexy faceplants or sprained ankles, and b) the sight of me strutting my middle-age stuff in nothing but high heels in the bedroom would undoubtedly send Hubs into gales of unrestrained laughter or screaming for an eye-wash station. I finally compromised with a pair of strappy silver sandals with a high wedge. Not exactly stilettos, but compared to my three-year-old Payless sneakers, he'll love them.

Then finally, the big night arrived.

Sitting at the restaurant, looking over the wine list, Kenny looked up and said, "Have you seen these prices?? Who the hell pays $100 for a bottle of wine??" "I agree," I said, "That's not us. Check out the entree prices." "You know," he said, "For the price of this dinner, we could get the shelving for the pantry." "That's true," I replied, "And the kids called today. They need to borrow some money." "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked. "Yep," I said, "Let's ditch this place and go get chips and a pitcher of margaritas at our favorite taco stand."

Four hours later, faces hurting from laughing and non-stop talking over too many margaritas and three bowls of guacamole, we stumbled out of the cab and into the house, heading down the hall to the bedroom.

"Tonight was so much fun," I said, "But I'm really tired. Would you mind if we didn't…" "Oh thank God," he replied, "I'm exhausted. Can we schedule that for next weekend?"

It was a perfect evening. And I still have the shoes.

- Vikki Claflin

Oregon writer Vikki Claflin writes the popular humor blog, Laugh Lines. Two recent pieces have been published in "Life Well Blogged, Parenting Gag Reels, Hilarious Writes and Wrongs," sold through Amazon.com.