Last night, Katie went on a date with a guy who sang to her. I’m assuming there was some liquid courage involved but yes, upon her expressing her fondness for the Jason Mraz song “I’m Yours,” he took it upon himself to sing his rendition to her. Totally good on paper guy. But anytime you find yourself floating up out of your body and peering down on the date in disgust (think Ghost Dad), it creates an incredibly uncomfortable situation. Apparently this guy was an excellent singer. But ya know, just because I happen to be excellent at closet organizing, doesn’t mean I’m going to stop the date in it’s tracks and start labeling plastic shoe containers. Just because Megan can extract your teeth doesn’t mean she’s going to throw you down on a table and pull out your incisors during intermission at Jersey Boys (actually…maybe she would).
Really? Thanks for giving everyone a glipse at my sad social life.
ReplyDeleteYou just know this guy Facebook-stalked her to find out her favorite song, spent a week rehearsing the song and then spent the entire date wondering, "Okay, should I sing the song now?"
ReplyDeleteBy the way, Katie, you should be more upset that Anna revealed your favorite song to be Jason Mraz's ass-tacular sonnet on his most recent homoerotic-hipster crush.
Anyway, you know what I'm wondering on a date: "Okay, should I take off my pants now?" I guess we all have different talents we feel compelled to show off.