The Face That Must Never Happen Again

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

So.  I guess I should be thankful that the photographer helped teach me a lesson.  I mean...WHAT IS GOING ON?

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!

There were a couple of salvageable pictures from the evening.  Luckily Heather doesn't mind me dancing with other people...basically because I have told her that if SHE isn't going to dance with me...then she better smile and wave when I find someone who will.  Brian special ordered pants just for the Christmas party occasion and that man can cut a rug.  It was fabulous.  There was A LOT of twirling.  This may or may not have been when I ripped all of the skin off of one of my pinkie toes.  I can't recall exactly.  Damn vodka.  But a real dancer leaves it all on the floor.  Literally.

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".

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.

You dig?