I thought the dating scene was brutal before I got married. I mean, I went out with horrendous losers, scary stalker types, and even worse… Wall Street guys.  Honestly,  there were times I’d rather be getting a blood transfusion then sit at Starbucks across from a guy who made Charles Manson look good.

So I thought when I got married, I’d put that all behind me. But no… now I’m obsessing over a different kind of date. “The Playdate.” And like dating, they’re filled with all sorts of ambiguity.  To start, who makes the first move? Am I obligated to invite the kid over my house? Is it drop off or does the mom want me to stay?  And if it’s at my house, is it appropriate to stick them in front of the TV while I hide and watch a Housewives marathon? I’m telling you, these playdates are heady.

At least with dating, I could score a free meal or drink. But the “Playdate” requires me to make chicken nuggets for kids who tell me they look gross. Hmmm… on second thought, “Creepy Long-nose Hair Guy” doesn’t look so bad now… if it means drinking a cup of coffee in peace.

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