We moved into our current home shortly after J was born. In the months that followed, we met the couple that lived two doors down from us, Julie and Joe. We became fast friends, bonding over our similar life stage, easy interactions, and — despite our seemingly collective adult maturity — our mutual enjoyment of vapid reality TV. On Mondays after putting our kids to bed, we would get together, turn on the Bachelor, talk through half of the scenes, and polish off a bottle of wine (or two) over the course of the show.

Unfortunately, Julie and Joe moved a few miles away just before the pandemic began. But fortunately, by this time we had already firmly established our friendship and a mutual understanding that no one seek or share spoilers once the next Bachelor/Bachelorette season began.

In recent years, we started a bet: during episode one, everyone picks their projected winner for the upcoming season. Loser buys dinner. It’s silly, but the text threads trash talking each other’s picks or lamenting one’s own pick blatantly self-sabotaging has been a way to keep the casual conversation virtually alive even during COVID times when we didn’t see much of each other.

All this to say, Julie lost the latest season, and made good on the bet to take us out to dinner. But because Julie does nothing halfway, the night out warrants its own entire post.

First: we went to a charming speakeasy-style basement bar and had dinner and a couple of drinks. Julie encouraged us to have more than one, as a matter of fact, to make the second part of our date extra effective.

We went to a “Pinspiration” site, which essentially involved us agonizing over creating an artistic vision for something meant to be super low-stakes, and then dancing around in a black-lit room splattering paint everywhere while listening to a 2000s throwback playlist. Suffice it to say, the extra drinks were indeed the right call.

The final spot on our tour-de-double-date was a bar that I would’ve sworn was a divey biker hangout (having never been there, of course), but evidently is a thriving, historical gem, known across Michigan for live music, drinks, and family friendly fare (so say Julie and Joe, who bring their kids for lunches).

We called it a night at about 10:30, after one of us unfortunately got an email that they had a last-minute scheduled 8AM C-level client call, and therefore we arranged for our DD (Julie’s dad) to pick us up and cart us all home.

2 observations from this night:

1. If “quality time” is my love language, and Julie put that much thought into a “loser treats to dinner” proposition, it’s no wonder she is among my all-time favorite people.
   
2. No matter how professional I may come across to clients or coworkers by virtue of work or title, no matter how adult I may seem or project to my children… it’s humbling to know that I am not so professional or adult that I can’t be found sitting in the backseat of my friend’s dad’s sedan, answering his questions about the night while feeling like a high schooler trying to get away with something.

Drive safe, everyone. And make some solid friends in your adult years. It’ll change your entire experience.