dainty

This is getting old. Moving, packing, unpacking, priming, painting. . .

But it's all worth it.

Josh forgets that I'm a dainty little girl. (Don't worry, I remind him, a lot.) Last night we were in the kitchen eating oatmeal, waffles, sandwiches, cereal, chocolate milk, and tea when he decided he would pick me up. He stuck his hands in my front pockets and squeezed and lifted. I screamed. I now have two bruises and a bit of rug burn on my hips. See? Dainty.

We went out the other night with Darren (he was looking for something to do) to the Nip. Josh and I danced and made fun of people, because that's what we do. I tried to actually get him to bust some stuff out and he did a little and then said, "There's something you need to know about my dancing."

Naturally, the first thought that entered my head was "magic shoes."

Last night we loaded up more stuff. Should only be one more load. (Sorry for being loud Em!)