On New Year's Eve, Joe and I went out for an early dinner during which I enjoyed a couple margaritas, on the rocks, with salt. In my current life, I'm in bed by 11:30, and am not known to party by any definition of the word or by any stretch of the imagination. So two margaritas made me feel pretty footloose and fancy free. Seeing as how I have the party lingo of an elderly person, you can see how long it has been. I celebrated by blasting what is quite possibly the best song of all time on the drive home (Joe was sober and driving, thank you for your concern). The next morning, Joe exited the shower and woke me by singing the following:
"OH BABY, YOOOOOUU, YOU GOT WHAT I NEEEED..."
"That's our song," he proclaimed.
"That's our song?"
"Yes, OH BABY, YOOOOU, YOU GOT WHAT I NEEEED..."
"That's a horrible song for us."
"Why?"
"Do you not listen to lyrics at all? It's about a girl telling him that she just has a friend and then he walks in on her making out with some guy in her dorm room."
"But that line is perfect for us!"
"Yeah, okay, great, so then we'll just play that one line over and over on repeat at our wedding."
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