The other night, my wife and I found ourselves sitting on the couch wondering how we would spend our evening. Here's an abbreviated version of our conversation:

"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know. What do you want to do?"
"I don't know. What do you want to do?"
"I don't care what we do. You decide."
"I don't care either. You decide."
"I said I don't care."
"We could clean the apartment."
"Ugh. On a Friday?"
"Aha! You said you didn't care! Clearly, if there's something you don't want to do, you do care."
"You don't want to do that either."
"Doesn't matter. You have to decide what we're doing."
"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know. What do you want to do?"

This went on for about an hour, until a friend called. Jason explained that a few people were gathering at his house for an impromptu barbecue and asked if my wife and I wanted to join in the fun.

"Well, uh, erhm," I said.

We ended up going to Jason's barbecue because I hadn't been able to think up a good excuse to do otherwise when I was on the phone with him. My wife and I had a great time, as we always do when we see Jason.

So why had I been searching for a way out of it?

Because we hadn't planned to do something with Jason.

For some foolish reason, I have arrived at a point in my life where I feel I must plan my social interaction. Remember those glorious days of being a kid, when you would just bike over to a friend's house, knock on the door, and ask: "Can Grant come out to play?"

In high school we used phones to excess, of course, but I still don't remember planning things. Social events were "planned" this way:

ME: "Hey."
BUDDY: "Hey."
ME: "Wanna hang out?"
BUDDY: "OK"
ME: "Do you have any pop?"
BUDDY: "Yeah."
ME: "OK. I'll be over in five minutes."

("Pop," by the way, is the Midwestern term for a carbonated beverage)

Then, in my college years, things reverted back to childhood and I would simply knock on dorm-room doors when searching for something to do.

Now I have to plan. I know what I'll be doing the first weekend of October. I am working on putting something together for Nov. 5. And with the coming weekend now only days away, I'm inclined to believe that it will be a wash because I have no plans.

But this is foolish, right? Why should my friendships be slave to a date book? Why can't things be like they were when we were younger? Why can't I simply show up at a friend's door?

Well, for one thing, there are 11 stop lights between my apartment and the house of my closest friend -- that's a significant distance to go only to discover that he and his wife aren't there.

And, as I say, he's married.

This is a family column, but suffice to say, married couples sometimes do things that you don't want to interrupt. So, I gave him a call:

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ME: "Hey."
BUDDY: "Hey."
ME: "Wanna hang out?"
BUDDY: "Hang out?"
ME: "Yeah. You know, get together and, I don't know, hang out."
BUDDY: "When?"
ME: "Now. I can be over in five minutes."
BUDDY: "Now?!"
ME: "Yeah. I can bring beer."
BUDDY: "Gee. I hadn't really planned on doing anything. I'm watching TV."
ME: "That's cool. I can watch TV with you."
BUDDY: "Uhm. No. I'm watching a movie on the Lifetime channel. It stars Markie Post."
ME: "Who?"
BUDDY: "Markie Post. She played Christine Sullivan on 'Night Court.'"
ME: "Oh, right. Well, I suppose I can watch that with you."
BUDDY: "No. Markie Post time is my time. I always had a sort of thing for Markie Post."
ME: "So? I have a thing for Soleil Moon Frye, the actress that played Punky Brewster. That doesn't mean I can't watch TV with you."
BUDDY: "Your wife doesn't look like Punky Brewster."
ME: "Yes. And your wife... Oh, wait. Your wife does look like Markie Post."
BUDDY: "Right. Markie Post time is my time. Call me back in an hour, when this movie is over, and maybe we can plan something for next week."

So, I suppose the reason our grown-up lives must be so intricately planned is that we are busy -- with jobs, or family, or work or Markie Post. It seems unfair that simple friendships require so much effort.

But at least they're worth it.

All those things that take up so much time in our lives might not be very fulfilling without our friendships. So, the next time Jason invites me to an impromptu barbecue, I will accept without hesitation.

Unless, of course, 1999's "Motel Blue," starring Soleil Moon Frye, is on television.

Chris Cope is married, with no children. His column appears every other Tuesday.