By compete, I mean, I read the account and admired pictures from a favorite blogger who did. I’ve been there in spirit, though. Cynthia writes a blog called You Signed Up for What?!? And I got in on the bottom floor. First post, second comment, even.
You might remember that daddy/daughter dates are my specialty (when I have a few bucks to spend).
Dollar movies and baseball games, wings with coupons and museum visits. It’s just me, the girl, and undivided attention. I miss these. The Father/Daughter Dance is the Daytona 500 of daddy/daughter dates.
(Or, maybe the Daytona 500 is the Father/Daughter Dance of NASCAR. Depends on who you ask.)
This had been my showcase, people. I was that dad, the one with the dance card full from three beautiful girls. The guy who leads the Electric Slide. The dude who twirls around his girls and dips them and twirls them again.