In December, Heather and I attended her holiday party. And of course...there was dancing. And in typical "Heather is an introvert and I am an extrovert" fashion, she pimped me out on the dance floor...ordering me to be cute and dancy and entertaining and talk to people I don't know and act pleasant. It's very daunting to be the extrovert in a relationship. Seriously. Exhausting. But it is my gift and it is my curse...so I must carry that cross. However, there was a professional photographer at this party. And she happened to catch something going on...not once...but at least 4 times.
Apparently I have a "dance face". It's half duckface, half "Amy may be having a stroke face". And I know what's going on. It's like some unattractive game face I make because I am pretending to be "feeling it", but I'm not really feeling it so I am in fact faking it. Let's take a look at the face in action shall we?
exhihibit #1: The "dance train" face
exhibit #2. The "let me show you my best side" face
exhibit #3. The "these are my bitches that I just met 45 minutes ago" face
exhibit #4 The I'm the flyest white girl in this line dance face
Oh. Let's take a look at this one next. This one is called the MY BATWING IS LAYING ON THE BAR. Someone have told me to flex or something for God's sake!
And then there was this picture, snapped upon our arrival. Before the sweat and the blood and the duck stroke face and the batwings.
This was a bridesmaid dress from J.Crew that I bought for Carmen's wedding 2 years ago. I've got my money's worth out of it. Heather looks precious doesn't she? I wanna make out with her a little bit. OKAY....a lot of bit.
However, I should note. The Monday after the party, a coworker approached Heather and asked her "is Amy a professional dancer"?
And do you know what my loving lifepartner said?
NO?!? When Heather was relaying this story to me, at this point my jaw fell open and I believe I said something along these lines:
"NO?!?! BABE! I AM A DANCER! YOU ALWAYS SAY YES TO THAT QUESTION. ALWAYS."
Stung my heart a little bit that one did. Perhaps even worse than the revelation that I MAY have a fat ass. I mean...I can live with a big old ass...but not having my POSSIBLY future wife shouting from the rooftops "YES! MY LADY IS A DANCER"....Well...that just might be too much.