"Let's blow this popsicle stand," he declared with reckless abandon, as the piles of papers landed with a thud on the carpet.
With aching brain and neck muscles, the typing wife didn't register the words at first.
"Pardon me?" she mumbled distractedly.
"Let's go out to dinner. Right now. Come on."
Her typing fingers paused, and her brain finally registered those rare words so sweet.
"Now?"
"Yes, now."
A quick change into date clothes, a wave good-bye to the startled but happy children having a water fight in the front yard, and they were gone. Like footloose and fancy free youngsters, only better. Twenty years down the road of life better.
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