One of the perks of living in the DC area is that a rad dates are pretty attainable. Take a date at the National Gallery of Art, for example. It’s not everyday that you can see Claude Monet’s “Japanese Footbridge” or one of Rodin’s “Thinkers” (seriously, how many of those are there? Don’t you feel like they’re at every big art museum?)

For my husband, Stan, this stuff is like… well, it’s like the way I feel when I walk into Bodleian Library at Oxford. Not that I don’t appreciate art museums. I do! But I can only stare wide-eyed at a painting for so long, you know? Which is fine, because after my 20 seconds of admiring the masterpiece, I get to watch him admire it. 

The Date

We took the metro, which was an experiment, and I have now vowed to never take the metro from our house again until single tracking is a thing of the past and trains run on time. But Stan got some very a la “House of Cards” pictures of me, which gave us something to do during the one-hour-trip-that-should-have-taken-30-minutes.

We came up from the metro at the Archives stop, which means we passed a Teaism. We also walked into said Teaism and bought a bento box, because I’m pretty much obsessed. Then onto a sun-drenched Sculpture Garden, complete with a public ice-skating rink. The weather was at least 70 degrees, so it must have been fun for the skaters and expensive for the rink.

The above scenes and the one below were happening simultaneously.

When we finally made our way to the National Gallery, I finished my coffee and pretended like I was a fashion blogger, which let us just be real, I am NOT. But I was proud of my outfit, because I was carrying heels in my purse all day, which I switched into (and stuffed the sweater in my bag too) for a party we went to later that night in the District. You can do a lot with black pants and a white crop top, people. 

The museum was just as a I had expected. Filled with tourists and tense security guards and the feeling that you’ve entered into a world unexplainably larger than yourself. At once you are convinced that you’ve done nothing significant with your life, and hopefully by the time you leave, you’ll realize your own artistic purpose.

As predicted, Stan stared at the paintings much more intently than me, leaving me to wonder at the different ways he and I are artists, and how God’s pretty nice to let this wordsy girl marry a picture guy. 

I never had any deep realizations about my artistic purpose in life, however, it gave Stan time with colors and brush strokes, and I did leave feeling like my soul had had been fed in some good way, that only art knows how to do.

We ended with food, obviously, and then off to our party. We were very proud of our adulting and extraverting, and now we’re already looking forward to our next touristy date. Hopefully, it will be at the Kennedy Center, so stay tuned. More stories to come.