I’m late. After a weekend in upstate New York, a sixteen-hour work day and the launch of the Philly Tap Jam, I came home to discover that I’d missed something rather important: this morning’s blog post.
(What? Did you think I was pregnant? Perish the thought! Contrary to popular belief, Date #6 and I did not sleep together. As such, it would seem that we’ll be able to remain friends, and I certainly hope we will because we’re slotted to go to a hockey game together on Thursday night and I don’t know enough about hockey to feign an interest in the score.)
Getting back to this weekend, the entire Richter clan headed up to Poughkeepsie for the wedding of a family friend who, oddly enough, met her new husband online.
(MySpace, granted, as opposed to Match.com, but still…)
I’d been starting to feel pretty dejected about my own marital prospects (it’s been almost two years since I’ve had a proper boyfriend) and figured that eventually I’d have to settle for some half-witted, dual left-footed dingbat who occasionally makes me smile, but then the bride and groom hit the floor for their first dance and OMG.
They did lifts.
Not one but two.
Properly executed, gorgeous, Disney princess-style lifts (to the theme song from the animated film “Anastasia” no less). The groom had never even danced before but he learned because he knew it was important to her.
I was a LOT jealous. So jealous in fact that I’ve added “must (be willing to try to learn to) do lifts” to my list of Essential Qualities. Who’s with me?