Dates in a Fishbowl

It appears that PaulA and I are similar to Barack and Michelle Obama. We both rule the world. I mean, we both have date nights. Well, not with each other…we don’t date the Obamas.

Throughout our marriage, PaulA and I have always gone out…just the two of us, even when the 3 bambinos were little bam bams. We scheduled a babysitter for EVERY Saturday night of our young bam bam’s lives. Our life saver was a high school girl named Jenna…the Camp Dancer. That was the affectionate name we gave her. And we also gave her…enough money to pay for college. Actually she earned it…who am I kidding.

Luckily for us, our dates are not in a fishbowl. I once saw a pic online of the Obamas on a stroll after dinner in Georgetown on one of their date nights. The Secret Service agents kept their distance, but had their faces pressed to the sides of the bowl. The caption on the photo said: “One of the rare times the couple has had some relatively private space outside the presidential residence.”

Hello, that’s considered private? A picture of the first couple holding hands splattered all over the internet? “Relatively” is the operable word.

With the Secret Service watching their dates… the Obamas must feel like a couple of teenagers dating…like when the girl’s dad is on the front porch in his underwear…nonchalantly cleaning his double-barreled shot gun. “Don’t mind me young’ins….go right ahead. I’ll just be really quiet over here…polishing my gun.”

We haven’t needed Jenna, the Camp dancer, in years…and years……

I wonder if Jenna has kids now. Heck, if she lived anywhere near me…I would jump at the chance to be the camp dancer for her kids. I might be a little rusty…but they say, camp dancing is like riding a bike…nothing a little oil couldn’t help to get the parts working again.