Date your spouse.

This post is sponsored post by Fyllan and Rozzelle Court Restaurant in the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City, Missouri.

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Date your spouse.

It’s marriage advice. You’ll hear it at weddings. You might even hear it repeated at a baby shower. It’s advice for empty nesters or retirees too, although that’s a guess. I haven’t reached that point in life.

The fact that it is a piece of advice will tell you it’s hard. Dating your spouse is hard.

Babies are good at putting out a rockstar couple’s fire. Really good, like rolling in on a firetruck with a water hose. But I’m not here to tell you that. You know. You also know it’s not always the kids. It’s stress too – the adult kind of stress that no one sees coming. A job loss. A breast cancer diagnosis. Losing a baby. Caring for aging parents. Life will throw something at you.

Even the day-to-day repetition can turn a marriage from for better into for worse. This isn’t a sad post. It’s a real one.

Date your spouse.

What kind of date? Well, that’s up to you.

I’ll tell you one of my favorite dates – feed me and take my dirty dishes away. 

For better is red lipstick. It’s watching Scott knot a tie even though he changed his mind later and went with a cowboy shirt instead. It’s curling my big hair. Scott trims his beard. He won’t shave it all because he knows I love his beard. For better is when Scott kisses my hand in the car on the way to our dinner date. I’m driving, of course, because I wear the pants in the relationship. That was a terrible joke, Scott. I’m sorry. For better is a dress and high heels. The heels that are just high enough to put me face-to-face with Scott. I love being his equal. He opens the restaurant doors for me and lets me walk in first.

For worse is putting in our name and waiting. It’s staring at other couples waiting. Everyone is on their phones.

For worse is making a mental note who was waiting before you. It’s our night, not theirs.

For worse is knowing you’re paying a babysitter to watch the kids while you stare at a hostess. You question if you remembered to give her your name after asking how long the wait is. Yes, I have done this before and Scott will never let me live it down.

Romance shouldn’t come with a wait.

Fyllan (pronounced “fill-in”) is a new restaurant app for your android or iPhone. I got to try out the app on Friday. We never waited for a table at Rozzelle Court Restaurant in the Nelson-Atkins Museum in Kansas City. Scott and I checked in by showing the app code and we were ushered directly to our table.

The app works in real time so you never have to call or book a reservation days in advance. The app is free to download.

The app is easy to use. We picked a restaurant from the map.

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We wanted a restaurant with ambience. Oh, I don’t know, maybe a 15th-century Italian courtyard ambience. And live music! Sold.

Rozzelle Court Restaurant at the Nelson-Atkins Museum.

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We booked two guests for a 7 pm dinner time on July July 21, 2017.

Each restaurant will display a price to book. The price is determined by the restaurant according to the average ticket cost. This cost, paid on your credit card at time of booking, is used as a credit towards your final bill. The credit will also cover gratuity. Restaurants may list specials or additional options such as “meet the chef.” Fyllan charges 10% of your final bill for its service. Fyllan will make sure you’re dating – not waiting.

And rest of your night is yours.

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Thank you Rozzelle Court Restaurant and the Nelson-Atkins Museum. I am not a food blogger or even a foodie but you sure do make me look good on a Friday night.

And Fyllan – thank you for giving us a date night without the wait.

Scott still knows how to make me laugh for the better.

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Links: 

Fyllan app

Rozzelle Court Restaurant

Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City, Missouri.

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The sweet nectar of the Gods.

I write on my blog every Monday. Whoops.

I have been in Napa Valley for the past 4 days with Scott. I forgot to bring my computer.

I’m actually surprised Scott picked Napa Valley as a vacation spot for us. Scott isn’t a big wine drinker. I’m not really a spa person. And we’re not, oh what’s the word … classy for a place like Napa.

Just like a drive through Kansas, if Kansas was on the "juice".

Just like a drive through Kansas, if the Kansas Flint Hills were on the “juice”. Ha! Juice. Get it.

We really tried to fit in with the wine capital of the world.

  • I had to stop Scott from throwing cash into the wine dumping bucket. He thought it was a tip jar.
  • We tried the use the lingo. Scott got his swirl down. I kept splashing all over. I gave up on the swirl and just went for the liquid gold. Ah, yes…smells like…grapes. Tastes like…well, grapes. Oh, yep. There’s the alcohol. That was good. I like them all. Can I have another?
  • So what do you drink in Kansas City, reds or whites? I drink reds at home and whites at restaurants. I don’t like having stained teeth in public. I got laughed at more than once.
  • And what do you drink wine for? She just drinks wine after the kids are in bed. The kids stress her out. Mommy juice. And I’ll drink anything with alcohol in it.
  • Swish the wine in your mouth and feel the tannins on the inside of your cheek. Uh, well. Ok, but real quick. I don’t want to stain my mouth. I have a toothbrush with me but not floss.
In the car.

Toothbrush in the car.

Bug, I don't see anyone else brushing their teeth. Everyone has purple mouths.

Bug, I don’t see anyone else brushing their teeth in public.

We had two full days of wine tasting. I didn’t taste one bad wine. Come on, it’s Napa! I actually don’t even know what a bad wine tastes like.

The evening before our flight back home, we made reservations at a restaurant that one of the wineries spoke very highly of. I was sold at the words “homemade pasta.”

Cute for the wineries. Not so cute for the classy restaurants.

Cute for the wineries. Not so cute for the classy restaurants.

We walk inside the restaurant and I immediately feel like Scott and I are a couple of kids.

Hm. Scott. Are we underdressed?

Nah, who cares.

I looked around. Men were in sweater vests, button up shirts with the arms of sweaters over their shoulders, sport coats. The women were in dresses. No one was in jeans or colored skinny jeans.

I could have swore my guidebook said this place was casual.

This is a nice t-shirt. It’s Tommy Bahama. It’s too late now. Quit worrying about it.

Yeah, I guess.

The waitress brought us water and gave us menus.

Oh, it was pasta alright. Pasta mixed with our choice of octopus, pigeon, scaups, or leg of lamb. And the only reason I know it was octopus, pigeon, scaups and leg of lamb is because I googled their Italian menu. I panicked. I found a buttered linguine with peas. The waitress came back.

So what looks good?

I’ll have the buttered linguine.

Very nice. And what would you like, sir?

Uh, what is a squab?

Oh. It’s not quite a chicken…it’s in the bird family.

Oh. Hmmm. Ok, I’ll have the spaghetti and scallops.

Excellent choice. Would you like an appetizer or salad?

No, bread will do. Thanks.

I was not about to google the salad and appetizer menus too.

Scott. This place is like for someone who is a foodie.

What is a foodie?

Oh my gosh. Someone who like tries all kinds of elegant foods. They have an appreciation for great chefs.

Yep. I’m good with a cheeseburger.

The waitress placed our food in front of us. Mine looked exactly how I imagined but the portion was the size of my 6 year old’s fist.

I took a bite. It was good. I ate slowly because I knew I could finish it in 5 quick midwest bites. Scott’s eyes got big. Under his scallops were little pink balls.

Please tell me this is not caviar.

Uh, I’m gunna say it is.

But it’s pink. I think these are those fruit things the girls put in their frozen yogurt.

No, those are like sugar. I bet that’s some sort of caviar. I thought you like stuff like that. You’re from Florida.

Scott takes a bite of one. He squints his face.

Tastes like sea water. Yep. Caviar. Try one.

Sick! No!

I finished my meal and Scott finished most of his, minus the caviar. The waitress came back and took our plates away. She was mildly annoyed.

Well. You didn’t have drinks, an appetizer or a salad. Just the pasta. Would you like to have dessert?

Sure, I’ll look.

I was starving. I ordered chocolate cake to share. Scott and I fought over the last bite. We paid and left.

Geez, that waitress was rude.

Yeah, she seemed pretty annoyed. Maybe she was having a bad day.

Good thing I only tipped her $1.

WHAT. Scott. Did you really?

Ha. No. Do you want to go back to the hotel and watch Bottle Shock on Netflix? We have to leave the hotel by 6 am to make our flight.

Sounds good to me.

Back at the hotel, I packed up, showered and we started our movie. I was asleep by 10 pm. I woke up at 2 am. Swallowing. I was sweating.

Surely, I don’t have to throw up. I didn’t even drink. Oh no. Oh no. Noooo!!

I got up and stumbled through complete darkness. I flipped the light in the bathroom and put my head in the toilet.

Scott….(puke) I’m throwing up (puke)…help (puke) me. My hair.

I finished and crawled back to my side of the bed. I fell asleep. I woke up an hour later. Swallowing. I ran to the toilet again. My stomach had shooting pain. I couldn’t sleep it off. My alarm buzzed at 6 am. Scott shot up out of bed. I was in the fetal position, staring at nothing.

What’s wrong with you?

I’ve been puking all night and my stomach. It’s radiating pain. That waitress tried to kill me because we wore jeans. And you wore a Tommy Bahama shirt. And only ate pasta.

Oh my stomach hurts bad too. I didn’t sleep at all last night.

Really, Scott?

Scott drove us to Oakland. I had a plastic bag in my lap. Puke in my hair. Every once in awhile I would clutch the door handle and scream in pain. I was a complete mess. I could not eat anything until we arrived in Kansas City.

Can I have one of those stickers too?

Fragile – 7 bottles of sweet nectar from the Gods in there. I also needed that sticker for my fragile stomach – poisoned by the waitress for wearing jeans.

 

I recommend sticking to the wine and cheese when traveling to Napa. You can keep your jeans and t-shirts on too. The wine won’t care at all.