How is it that night of TV and Chinese takeout feels more like a date than any of our past nights at excellent, top-rated Twin-Cities restaurants? He let me order and I chose three entrées, eggrolls, and cream-cheese puffs (I was starving, and everything looked so delicious), and it still didn’t cost as much as we usually spend on the wine alone. It wasn’t supposed to be a date; none of the factors hinted at date … but it really, really felt like one. Maybe because with the former, our main motivation is to hang out with each other; with the latter, the food and the experience is the third wheel. And, oddly, I think wardrobe might have something to do with it. With takeout, I wear scrubby sweats and curl up on the couch. With a formal restaurant, I wear work clothes and heels and can maintain the distance better than with sweats. My guard forgets to stay up when I am comfortable.