So the girl and I attended a father/daughter dance on Saturday night.
Jr. High + hanging with your folks ÷ √ of jack-ass-dad = Fate worse than DEATH.
Mathematical probabilities aside, the girl was a great sport. Though she denies it I think she agreed to go more for me than for herself. The unfortunate thing was that not many girls her age were there, and I fear it may have been our last father/daughter dance until possibly her wedding day.
Next year she'll be in 8th grade, and I'm hoping all of her classmates will realize that it will be their last chance to attend one of these dances with their old men, and they'll all decide to go and really get into the spirit of it. But knowing how teenagers feel about spending time with their parents I'm certainly not counting on it. So I hugged her as much as she'd let me and danced much more dignified than my body would organically choose to. As I've mentioned to several friends, the girl's one and only condition for agreeing to attend the dance was that I promise not to embarrass her. So I did my best to be true to my word. I did manage to do a little stealth boogying; a little hip action while "shaking dice." I'm so money.
So we grabbed some dinner at Ed's (girl's choice), (not walking the check), made our appearance at the dance, and were home eating popcorn and watching Escape from New York by 9:15; all in all, a good night.
Oh, the picture above. Since the girl and I had plans, Lisa took the boy to meet with our accountant in order to file our tax return. Doesn't that sound like fun too? OK, afterward they checked out the Rave for a little Race to Witch Mountain, then the arcade and photo booth (ah, it all comes clear), wrapping their date with a little pie at Coco's.