Dancing.

Last week, Shane and I were watching a particularly boring movie (in my opinion, anyway.) I tried to keep myself awake to the credits.

The credits finally rolled, and a super fun, dance-y song started playing. Shane jumped up and jovially asked me if I wanted to dance.

I was ecstatic. Shane and I had never really danced before, unless you count some buzzed nights at nightclubs, and that's not really dancing as much as... well, you've seen drunk people dancing. You know what it looks like. Anyway, I jumped up at the proposition.

Unfortunately, instead of taking my waist and dancing with me, he picked up Dance Central for our XBox360.

I sat back down, winded. I was sure we were going to have this insanely romantic, disgustingly cute moment where we'd dance together, kiss, and then the dog would jump between us and we'd let him give us puppy kisses. Then our cat would come into the room and, even though she and the dog don't really get along all the time, she and the dog would cuddle up together and we'd all be a happy family.

This was just a fantasy.

In a few minutes, when the game started up, I'd already forgotten about my lost dream and danced to Lady Gaga.

Dance Central 1, Me 0.

So What if I Like to Sing?

A few weeks ago, I found myself home alone and needing to relax. So, I had a glass of red wine. I still wasn't feeling very relax-y, so I drew myself a bath, put on music, and poured myself another glass of wine.

Feeling refreshed, I got out of the bath and started to blow-dry my hair.

Sara Bareilles came onto my iPod, so I started singing along. I had to sing loud, so that I could hear myself over the blowdryer.

Whilst singing loudly and blowdrying my hair (Naked, nevertheless), my fiance got home.

I didn't notice at first, and just sang louder.

He made fun of me, telling me that I looked ridiculous.

I never sang in the bathroom again.