My friend Liz got married on Saturday in Albany. My sister, Kimberlie, and I were bridesmaids.
That's my dad in the middle. He didn't marry them, he just preached a little message.
It's practice for when he becomes a pastor.
Did I mention he's going to pastor school soon?
But I digress.
We had a good time until a certain bride who shall remain nameless put her Miss Snippy pants on.
But then we continued to have a good time because the above mentioned bride is the nicest person I know and just happens to get stressed out when a certain groom who shall also remain nameless plays jokes and takes his time getting ready on one of the more important days of their lives.
Isn't my daddy handsome?
There we are. Kimberlie was the Maid of Honor, Julia (groom's daughter) was a junior bridesmaid, Hilary came all the way from Alaska, and then there's me and my long neck.
Yes. That is what this post is going to be about.
Maybe I should stop wearing my neck rings at night, eh?
This has gotten out of hand. Back to the wedding.
No, Liz's wedding.
There we go.
Ah, yes. The dancing.
Oh boy was the dancing fun. So much rhythm in the room, so little rhythm in my feet. But after four toasts I was just like Beyonce out there.
However, after four toasts Corey was still Corey.
"I can't go out there...I'll look like an IDIOT!"
He was a good sport, though. He tucked his bottom lip under his top teeth and rocked the best of the 80's dance moves. All while making sure those within earshot knew:
"I'm an Irish-American!"
I'm not sure what that means. Potato farmers can't get jiggy wit it?
Do people still say that?
This guy put us all to shame. When a dood's Vans match his outfit you know he's got something up his sleeve.
"Some people are just born with it. Look at that kid. He's doing actual MOVES!"
Later on he made friends with another little boy sporting a sweaty white undershirt and Alfalfa cowlick. A dance-off ensued. It was a-dor-a-ble. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't a tad jealous of their skeelz.