Grown up dating

As a teenager growing up one of my highlights was going to school dances.

Yeah, yeah, big deal right? Wrong.

In Utah school dances were and probably still are a big deal. For example, to ask a boy to a girls choice dance you do not simply walk up to them and say "hey, you wanna go to Spring Formal with me?" Oh no no no! You get their mothers permission to decorate their room with a big sign that says "I'd drop dead to go to Spring formal with you!" Put some police caution tape up around his room, outline your friends body on the floor and make it look like a crime scene. Lastly, hide your name somewhere in his room for him to find, tell his mom where you hid it - just in case he can't find it.

Oh but gets better.

The poor guy must now answer you in an equally creative way. Say, bake a cake with a toy gun on the top that reads "Shoot, don't drop dead, find my answer in the cake instead!" Leaving you to tear through a whole sheet cake to find the answer.

The day of the dance rolls around which will involve a full day of activities: games during the day (laser tag or an organized food fight in the park), a break to get ready (in matching themed shirts if it is not a formal event), dinner, the actual dance, over priced professional photos followed by an extended curfew PG movie with a group of friends at whoever has the largest TVs house. Close parental supervision will be enforced so first base is about all the guy can hope for.

Yes, I looked forward to each and every one of those stupid dances. It was the prep work, the anticipation, the "oh my gosh I hope I get asked!" followed by the relief of finally getting asked by your best guy friend who felt sorry for you.

Why am I telling you all this? Because I have a date tonight. I have a date, with a man who actually took the time to plan something fun out. I get to wear my new black suede boots on my date. I raided my closet and tried on 3 outfits (with my boots of course) to find the one that makes my butt look round and the rest of me look sexy-classy, not sexy-slutty. I thought about making him wear matching themed shirts but figured he might think I'm crazy. Best to stick with the sexy-classy.

OK, so I know this is far from the same thing, the rules have definitely changed and there will be no parental supervision, but it just feels really good to have someone put forth an effort.

I feel... special.

Blogfully yours,

Summer