You may not know this about me (seriously, if you don't, what kind of friend are you?), but I ♥ ♥ ♥ Dancing! Every year our stake holds a dance for Valentine's Day and it is, truly, my very favorite night of the whole year. It is NOT Trent's favorite (I wouldn't be surprised to learn that it is his least favorite), but he knows how much I love it, so he humors me. I always make sure that we arrive at the precise moment that it starts, which I realize makes me a dork-but who cares about being cool when there is dancing to be done? This year, especially, I made sure we were on time since the old fogies in charge decided that 2 hours was long enough. (I think I'll volunteer to help on the committee next year. Really, 2 hours!?!)
We started our night by going to dinner with some friends at the Texas Roadhouse. Good food and even better company. (Note to self: When preparing to go dancing, limit Diet Cokes to 2.) We arrived at the dance at 6:58 PM, just in time. When the music started, I dragged Trent to the middle of the floor. The one other couple that was dancing was barely on the dance floor at all. I proceeded to dance like the free spirit that I am when moved by music while Trent rocked back and forth, feeling self conscious about the people watching who were at a dance, but not dancing. The friends who went to dinner with us arrived sometime later (they are not up to speed on the whole dancing-is-better-than-being-cool thing). They joined us in the middle of the floor and some of us had a fabulous time. Some were just counting the minutes until the torture ended, but they were good sports.
At some point, our friend, Aaron, accidentally stomped on my foot (which was bare because of a whole "Footloose-kick off your Sunday shoes" thing). That really hurt. And left several small bruises. Then my left knee started screaming, "You are too old for this!", which I did not appreciate. (Note to self: Don't go running the same day as the dance.) By the time the dance ended I was in rough shape. I don't know what was wrong with my knee-it seems to be fine now. I guess 2 hours was long enough after all, but I will still be pushing for more next year. They usually take pictures, but didn't this year. Bummer.
Valentine's Day is quickly becoming my favorite holiday. I love being surprised, but sometimes it's hard for Trent to think of what I might like for Christmas, my birthday or our anniversary. For some reason, inspiration seems to strike for Valentine's Day. I have gotten fabulous surprises for the last 3 years. This year he gave me a day at a spa to prepare for our cruise. Last year he surprised me with my iPod and the year before that I got my very own nickel-plated, pink-pearl grip .22 pistol. I gave him a can of nuts and a bag of M&M's. Aren't I thoughtful? I guess I'm claiming this as my day.
