On my menu plans, Friday usually says "Out." It's unrealistic to expect otherwise. The little cooking dial in me turns to "I Quit" on Friday nights. Even though, as you know, I adore being in my kitchen.
We usually go to someplace cheap and in the neighborhood. Last night we went to Thanh Thao, the Vietnamese restaurant we've been going to for over 10 years. Wyatt got a kid-size bowl of pho and emitted short grunts as he slurped it down. I didn't have pho till I was in my 20's. Loretta got rice and egg rolls, Yancey got this beautiful tray for making spring rolls, and I gut bun (rice noodles--pronounced "boon") with chargrilled pork. Number 131. Same every time.
I felt so content, watching Yancey deal with Loretta's demands (not me!), surrounded by loads of families and lovers eating heartily and celebrating Friday night. It was as if the click of our chopsticks was saying, "We made it through another week. Some of us barely, others with flying colors. But we're here, we are not alone." Amen. (And our bill was $30, even with extra egg rolls and my beer.)