Do you know what today is?

Okay, so actually, since it's after midnight, this should read "Do you know what yesterday was?" The answer to both questions?

It's my anniversary!

That's right, April 5, 2009 marks six years of me and the hubs not killing each other or having the police answer a "domestic disturbance" call at our house.

Due to the fact that neither one of us really schedule anything by actual dates and only in terms of "next Tuesday" or "three weeks from today," he had already made plans for the day of our anniversary. So we decided to celebrate on Friday instead.

We quickly stowed the kids away at my in-laws house, threw a few kisses and a hasty goodbye and we were on our way.

From back when we were dating, it used to be our tradition to celebrate our anniversary with dinner at Ruby Tuesday's. Not because Ruby Tuesday's is any kind of culinary mecca or anything, but because that's where we had our first date. However, Ruby Tuesday's underwent some changes, and the food went south quick and in a hurry and we no longer wanted to go there for our anniversary dinners. Instead, we decided to switch it to the restaurant where we had our first dinner out after the wedding festivities came to an end. Red Lobster.

First, let me tell you that I'm quite certain that Satan owns the Red Lobster, or at least plans their menu. There's no way on earth that anyone good and righteous could come up with so many tempting dishes that will lead you straight down the path of weight gain hell. I mean, seriously? Have you tried the cheese biscuits? And they bring them to you by the basketful. As many times as you ask. I know, because there was a point in the not so distant past that the waiter would just bring a new basket if he was coming anywhere near the vicinity of our table. This time, I had three biscuits, and was thrilled I was able to stop at that. I mean, really, I've had three BASKETS of those things before by myself. That's definitely a victory in my book.

But Red Lobster also houses two great weaknesses of mine in impeccable form: the Caesar salad and shrimp (not together though.)

What wrong with Caesar salad, you might ask. I mean, after all, it is a salad, right? Yes, it is a salad. However, it is a salad that houses at the very least seven points, and you know they aren't going to err on the side of "least" at Red Lobster. That's just way too many points for me to spend on a salad before my meal. So I abstained. The hubs, however, did not. I tried my best to remember that I loved him dearly as I sat there salivating over that delectable looking salad. Instead I stuck to my garden salad, with red french dressing on the side, which I dipped my salad into. Only ended up using a tiny bit out of the cup, and I felt victorious. DING! Round 1 is over, and the score is Fat Chick 1, Satan 0!

When it came to the entree, however, I did not practice restraint. You see, I've been having a torrid love affair with shrimp for years. I love shrimp in nearly every possible scenario. So much so that I have quite honestly earned my nickname of "Bubba Gump." And much like dear Bubba, few things get me as excited as the possibilities of shrimp.

So I ordered the shrimp trio, which has butterfly shrimp, shrimp scampi, and coconut shrimp bites. I got a baked potato with it, butter only. I was almost giddy with the anticipation of my shrimp. I kept craning my neck around to see if I could see the waiter, and if I did, I was trying to determine whether or not he had my shrimp with him. Finally, the food made it's way to our table, and I swear I think I almost dislocated the waiter's wrist trying to get my plate away from him. I ate with more abandon than a death row inmate being fed his last meal. DING! Round 2 is over. Fat Chick 1, Satan 1.

I passed on dessert, and me and the hubs headed out to the car. We still had plenty of time before our movie was supposed to start, so he wanted to go to Barnes and Noble. And here is where it gets interesting.

You see, our Barnes and Noble has a Starbucks inside, and I plan on one day blowing the whistle on those evil little baristas. I know that they are putting crack in their coffee drinks, and that's why they've become such a phenomenon. There is simply no other explanation for the depth of addiction I have developed to those blessed lattes. So I went to the counter and ordered my usual, which in and of itself is the measure of a true addict. It went a little something like this:

"I'll have a venti iced Chai Latte with no ice, nonfat milk, no whip please."

Now I know what you are thinking. Why order an iced Chai Latte with no ice? Because the ice takes up space, and all I care about is that it's chilled. Without the ice, I get even more latte. Yep, that's what I thought. Now you know that I'm an addict.

Fat Chick 1, Satan 2

After inhaling my latte and perusing the books for a little while, we left to go to our movie. We watch A Haunting in Connecticut, which was a really good movie. My tummy was full from all that cheddar biscuit, shrimpy, chai latte goodness, so I was able to watch the movie all curled up to the hubs in a total state of bliss.

When the movie ended, and we exited our theater, I was hit with the overwhelming urge to NOT go home. I looked up at the hubs and said, "Hey, why don't we catch another movie?" He was pretty quick to agree, so we bought tickets to see Last House on the Left.

We had a good 20 minutes to kill, so the hubs went to the game room to play Galaga, and I stood by and watched him. But only evil can come out of lingering in a movie theater's lobby for too long.

I was hit with an overwhelming urge to hold up the concession stand. I had visions of myself jumping up on the counter with a gun and demanding that they give me one of everything they sell so that no one will be harmed. I love movie concession stand food. The chocolate candy in the oversized packages. The nachos with hot melty cheese on them. The super-duper buttery popcorn that proves to me that there is a God and He loves us very much. The tubs of soda. I love it all.

I quickly whipped out my cell phone and texted one of my Weight Watchers buddy. This was a dire situation, and I needed someone to talk me down from the ledge. I asked her to please tell me what would be the lowest point item that I could possibly obtain from the concession stand. She texted me back that she figured it would be a kid's size or small popcorn with no butter. But that was still going to cost me points, and I was agonizing over what to do, what to do?

I walked up to the concession stand, and with every ounce of energy I had in my body, I made the following statement to the teenage boy behind the counter: "A large Diet Coke and one energy drink please." (Energy drink was for the hubs.)

What? Are you freakin' serious? I just walked up to the concession counter, bought something, and only walked away with a Diet Coke? That never happens! I always eat something at the movie theater, even if I just finished dinner 10 minutes before arriving there. But not this time. This time, it was Diet Coke only, and I felt like I had just climbed Mount Everest. I wanted to jump up in front of the screen in our theater and announce to everyone my victory.

Fat Chick 2, Satan 2

So after that movie ended, we headed home. I was still on a high from my victory at the movie theater that I couldn't sleep. I sat down at the computer and logged in all of my food from the date, and stared at the screen with my jaw in my lap. With all of my sins from Red Lobster and Starbucks, I only went over my daily points by 9, and I had more than enough weekly points to cover that. No point apocalypse like I was expecting.

Fat Chick 3, Satan 2

Now, the big challenge that looms ahead is my weigh in on Wednesday. That will be the true measure of who has won this battle.

However, I want to end this post by going back to the reason for this little soiree: my husband. It's been six years that we've been married, and 8 1/2 years together. I love him truly, madly, deeply. He loved me as much at 270 pounds as he does now at 230. He has never made me feel unattractive and he always made me feel like I deserve the best. He's wonderful, even if I do bitch about him from time to time.

He's my soulmate and my teammate. And I'm looking forward to many, many years with him.

Happy Anniversary, honey.