Date night 2025

When voting for the next president of the United States of America, most people don’t stop to consider one of the most important factors: how the outcome might affect a romantic night out with their partner. Lucky for you, I’m here from the future to explain how date nights with my husband have changed since the 2024 election. 

Back when we still had fluoridated water and a farcical degree of bodily autonomy, date nights typically consisted of dinner and a movie. Pretty standard stuff. One year in the future, you can rest assured that going on a date with your significant other will largely follow the same blueprint, but with a few barely noticeable tweaks. 

First, the dinner. Going out to eat post-inauguration has required a combination of bravery, luck and a naturally strong immune system. Since the eradication of the FDA and any semblance of food handling standards, common food poisoning has become the least of our worries. What we’re more concerned with is the rise of avian-swine-dog flu, a superbug that’s mutated to infect all manner of cattle, poultry and pork. Not to worry though, RFK Jr.’s pet ravens have predicted that a nationwide case of hand-foot-and-mouth disease is totally normal and will only make us stronger as a society. 

Thanks to tariffs and the metal shortage that’s crippled the economy, you usually have to pay extra for luxuries like silverware when dining out. Most of the time when my husband and I go to a restaurant, we just shovel food into our mouths with our bare hands, but hey, tonight we’re treating ourselves! Bring on the forks and knives! And when the bill comes at the end of the evening, we’re no longer horrified or surprised by the exorbitant cost. Our meal did involve eggs, after all. Thankfully, we invested in Dogecoin early, which has been declared the only legal tender in this country. 

After dinner, we head to the cinema to see a back-to-back showing of “Home Alone 2: Lost in New York” alongside “Zoolander.” By law, movie theaters are only allowed to show films that Donald Trump bullied his way into having pathetically minor roles in, and it was either this double feature or the 1989 romantic fantasy comedy, “Ghosts Can’t Do It,” for which Trump won Worst Supporting Actor. 

Once we get our popcorn and candy that exclusively uses the red dye known to cause cancer, we settle into our seats. Instead of previews, the big screen lights up with a list of the Ten Commandments, narrated by the Moviefone guy. Once these have played on a 15-minute loop, we all stand and recite the Pledge of Allegiance with a few teeny alterations: 

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under Trump, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all billionaires. 

Everyone is expected to salute the projected image of a cyber truck alongside a spray-tan gun – our newly adopted national symbols. This salute in no way evokes images of the Third Reich.

When it comes to the actual movie, filmmakers have had to make a few concessions as well. For example, now that pornography has been outlawed, an extensive number of concerned parents have been asked to volunteer at movie theaters to cover audiences’ eyes when vaguely suggestive scenes come on. On top of that, soundtracks are limited to only presidentially approved songs, which is really just anything Trump played at that rally where he stood around for 40 minutes, swaying like a cow waiting to be hit in the head with a captive bolt gun. “YMCA” has never charted higher. 

Back at home, my husband and I engage in a little post-date pillow talk. I ask him flirty questions like, “If I were pregnant and you had to choose between saving my life or the life of an unborn fetus, which would you choose?” He answers, “You, obviously,” and I find his acknowledgment of my innate right to exist to be extremely sexy. Unfortunately, we cannot act on our carnal desires. Birth control has been eradicated (at least for women) and neither of us wants me to die from complications due to childbirth, given the fact that the United States has the highest maternal mortality rate among any developed country. At least it did back in 2024.  

So there you have it. Another post-democracy date night in the books. But thank God the gas to go out was cheap!