If the Gingerneer ever decides to quit his job, he could totally teach at a pre-school. He is SO patient and has amazing skills with repetitive counting. What preschoolers couldn't use that kind of a teacher. Although, then I would have to contend with single moms... and I'm not really down with that.
AggieTri, AT's BF, Gingerneer, Lunchtime Sex, a coworker of mine, my brother, and I went to a dance seminar/pot luck at Gilley's today. They offered progressive double two step, three step, waltz, cha cha, salsa, line dancing, etc. Since we all know how coordinated I am on land, there is no way this wasn't going to go well.
Despite my need to have someone gently kick my toes to remind me to move my feet... or count aloud as I move... or make up silly phrases to remind me what to do... I had so much fun!
Barn dance- greatness. Should I ever get married, we're doing it.
But, that is not the purpose of this post. The purpose is to say that my sweaty palms and butterfly insides might have hindered my dancing, but they did not stop the Gingerneer from being his usual charming self. And again, I'm all smiles.
Gingerneer had to leave early to head out to a bachelor party but offered the possibility of a drunk text later in the day. I would love one... always curious as to what people text when they've been drinking.
One the other hand, drunk texting spelled the absolute end for PtCtA...
Flashback to December 5, 2009, 12:40am:
“Hey what are you up to?”
“Aww I am just getting out of the bar. You sound like you could use some company hah”
“I have to be up at 4am”
“Even a better reason to pull the old school all niter. Sorry for the drunken text then”
I really do not enjoy receiving drunk texts after midnight from people I barely know. I really do not enjoy the implication that I would be someone who would want to be texted for a late night romp by someone who I have yet to hug with both arms who (in case anyone forgot) wrecked my bike last time I saw him. I think I am pretty straight forward. If I want to see you in little to no clothing, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, after these sorts of texts, I’ll just categorize you in the creeper file and cross you off the list of people I take phone calls from.
Yep... there it is. The last post I made about texting and a guy.
Dear Santa, I know it's June, but please help Gingerneer send the right text.
He thinks my hair looked pretty today.
He had fun dancing with me today.
He wants to see me again before he heads out of town next weekend.
He wished me luck on the half marathon tomorrow morning.
He did it all at a respectable hour.
Thanks, Santa. I've got it from here. I'm going to keep enjoying the patient man (who I will learn to dance with eventually) who sends nice texts even from bachelor parties.