Proof that I need to get out more often

This evening we did another Dine Out, at a nearby French place. We'd never been there before, despite it being four blocks away, but there are a million restaurants in this neighbourhood and we hardly had time to get to them all before we had a child.

Anyway one of the nice perks of this restaurant was that along with it's three course meal, it had a three course wine taster to go along with it. I like wine. I do. I'm fond of it. But I am a terribly cheap date. It's only been the last one, two months that I've been drinking with any regularity, and my usual drink is a half a glass of wine over dinner at home. 

So I paused a moment before ordering the wine. If half a glass of wine makes me feel pleasantly relaxed, three full restaurant glasses will make me ... well, pretty damn tipsy.

The Man and I figured we'd share the wine -- I can perhaps handle a glass and a half of wine, I think. I also order the warm goat cheese salad with prosciutto and tapenade (which was lovely), the steak with pomme frites (which was lovely) and the mouse au chocolat (because I am a sucker for such things. If chocolate is on the menu, I can hardly ever not order it.)

One half glass of wine later and it's clear that it's a good thing I didn't order the wine just for me. I am feeling decidedly relaxed. Two more glasses and I will be loopy as all hell. So we continue on, another course and another glass of wine and Man, Do I Feel Good.

And then dessert arrives. 

You know how mousse often arrives in a cup? or a bowl? Preformed or something? Well this mousse arrives on a plate. In two ... cynlindrical? oblong? brown lumps, one overlapping the other.

And I giggle. I'm 34 years old, I'm in a nice French restaurant, and I am tipsy enough that I am giggling about the food. 

Ay-yi-yi. It's embarrassing to think about. Clearly I am about as mature as my two year old.