Feeling: full
Listening to: Rob Thomas
Reading/Watching: Angel, s.2

I think all Japanese restaurants are required to embrace the time-honored traditions of wooden chopsticks, kneeling tables on tatami mats, various types of undercooked fish, padding to the bathroom in sock-feet, and slow, language-challenged, geriatric service from little Japanese women in kimonos, so you can't be pissed because they're so quiet and cute.

At least we only missed the first ten minutes of the show. Stomp waits for no man (nor cute little Japanese women). But by the time we got our check at the Tokyo Inn, mon coeur and I were about to start pacing the floor in impatience... with our shoes on.

Plus side: I had lots of sukiyaki to take home. Nothing like a souvenir of beef, tofu and yam noodles (I swear, they're the funkiest yummy food I've ever had).

I think the source of this good mood was the opportunity to dress up. For the first Friday night in a long time, I put on make-up, and a cute new blouse, a pink and white skirt I have worn perhaps three times in three years, and (honest to God) pantyhose. "Going out" on Fridays has become so rare lately, as if it's not necessary once your boyfriend knows he doesn't have to impress you to keep you around.

I think I am going to re-instate the Going Out institution. It's necessary, to prevent the atrophy of my walking-in-high-heels muscles.

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