I'll give you a hint: one is the number of posts I've made on this blog, and the other is the number of years we've been married. I'll let you decide which is which... although if you're complaining about my latest lapse in posting, or think Deborah and I are truly ancient, you might pick the wrong answer. :-)
We enjoyed the Art Fair for most of the day, and once the kids were in bed, and Paul installed in the living room with a book, Deborah and I returned to the Village to go try out Cerulean, which purports to be a "restaurant and sushi lounge." (I didn't see that there was any separation between the two, but that's what's on the sign.) The national-identity-conflicted menu also included tapas, but that didn't make it to the sign. Everything we got was delicious — Maki rolls for me, spicy vegetable rolls for Deborah (sushi and sashimi are no-nos while pregnant) and an umami-packed tapa of grilled asparagus with proscuitto and manchego. (Deborah says I ordered it for the manchego. I admit, I do miss it.)
After the last pomegranate lemonade, they shood us out of the restaurant, and we took the cart out to the park for a nice romantic moonlit stroll along the beach (no, really!) and some tracing back and forth to see if we could figure out the exact place I had proposed.
I think I'm up for another 11 years. And I think Deborah is, too.