Fred Astaire

Mike is a man of many talents. Dancing, however is not one of them.  He's not bad,  but he's not exactly Fred Astaire.  Anywho, by the time I realized this, I was way too far gone in love with him and just planned right then and there to take a couple of lessons for our wedding to avoid the middle school shuffle first dance.  So when there was a groupon for a few dancing lessons, and that the deadline to use it was right before the wedding, I snapped 2 of those up in a second.  And then once I committed to my shoes (more on those in a minute), I decided that I better book these lessons so we would have time to practice.

Tuesday we had our first lesson, which was fun.  Though I think I had more a little more fun than Mike.  He was fairly tense through the whole lesson because he was concentration so, so hard.  He can learn the steps and follow the beat, but I think he's more nervous than he's telling me (I can read your body language dear. After all, I have to learn how to follow you.)

But back to me. We walk into the dance studio and I'm carrying my shoes in their box.  The very flamboyant receptionist is super excited to see them, and asks if it's ok to take them out of the box while the groom is right there. I have no qualms about Mike seeing the shoes since they give nothing away about the dress, say sure and hand over the box.

He lifts the lid, pulls back the tissue paper and squeals "those are fabulous!" 
I didn't want to say this in front of him, but as we were getting in the car to go home, I say to Mike: When a gay man tells you you have fabulous shoes, your do indeed, have very fabulous shoes!