Seriously, I really wish I could do this. It’s sort of retarded. But I love it. I even want the skimpy yellow outfit. Don’t tell my mother (she’d have more of a problem with yellow than skimpy, but whatever).
Josh will not be samba-ing to the best of my knowledge. I’ll have to find a fruity partner who considers me no sexier than a really nice watch or other matchy-matchy accessory. I’ll also have to get over my social anxiety, stage fright, inability to do much physical activity being so out of shape, and hate-on for spending unnecessary money on frivolous things like dancing lessons. It might be a while…
800 Miles 