“Your Kids Can Eat at Home,” My Dad Said—So When the Waiter Returned, I Stood Up – The Archivist

He walked me to my car, asked for my number, and texted me before I’d even reached the freeway.

Our first date was at a wine bar in Hayes Valley, low lighting and exposed brick. He ordered without glancing at the menu, charming the server with a few well-chosen words.

“Do you always assume you know better than the sommelier?” I teased.

“No,” he said continue reading …