Friday night (two Fridays ago, now ... that is how long it has taken me to write this post) we went out. It's worth noting, as it doesn't happen that often. One of Jeremy's colleagues had a birthday and invited a bunch of folks to a newly opened Mexican restaurant to celebrate. This particular celebration happened to coincide with a huge private party run by a local club promoter (or something like that). The place was jammed. There was live music and dancing, and the food smelled great. I didn't actually get to try any. Forty minutes after we ordered, the waitress informed us that our food would take at least another hour. We ended up next door at a burger joint for dinner instead. Afterwards, we went back to the Mexican place and danced a little bit. It reminded me of single days in Yerevan, and I was mostly happy that they were over.
When I got home, I hung up the wool sweater I had worn (can you tell I'm old and married?). Three days later, it still reeked of smoke. I do not miss that.
Sadly, this was the only photo we got of the two of us that night.