Nearly 80 photos, and this is the only one that was usable. Apparently I was feeling fidgety today.
Dress: A to Z Tees (Alhambra Outlet)
Cardigan: Anne Klein (Nordstrom Rack)
Boots: Enzo Angiolini (Nordstrom Rack)
Necklace: Gift from Mr. CP (Brighton Collectibles)
Earrings: Vintage, gifted
Mr. CP and I will be celebrating our anniversary this weekend, and in honor of this hallowed occasion I thought I would share with you the story of our hilariously epic first date. Brace yourselves, friends. Brace yourselves.
I'm not stoic. I don't handle fear very well. So when Mr. CP approached me about going to a haunted house, my first thought was, "Hell you say?!" But then I thought, "I've been crushing on this guy for ages. Woman up, and just do it." Because I'm a huge, huge nerd -- and also in the hope that it would help me remain stoic in the face of terror -- I researched the haunted house online in order to figure out what I should expect. Browsing through the website, one thing became crystal clear: chainsaw-wielding clowns were going to be in abundance. So when I kept hearing chainsaws revving up inside the old morgue-cum-haunted-house we were about to wander into on that chilly October night, I knew precisely what was going on.
We were ushered into the haunted house with a group of three or four teenagers. I adopted what turned out to be a reeeeeally stupid survival strategy: remain at the end of the line. Are you shaking your head at me? You should be. Because if you plant yourself at the end of the line in a haunted house, you might as well paint a giant target on your forehead. So, there I was moseying on along when I heard a creaking sound behind me. I frantically turned around to see what the noise was, thought "Huh. There's a chainsaw-wielding clown climbing out of the wall," and then faced forward again. Two seconds later, I realized, "@$!% There's a chainsaw-wielding clown climbing out of the wall!!!!!" which is when things really got interesting. You see, apparently I was much stronger than I realized. In an effort to prevent the creepy ass clown from getting to me, I grabbed Mr. CP by the arm, and hoisted -- yes, hoisted! -- him between the clown and myself. In the process I... well... ahem... that is to say... I, um, dislocated his shoulder. Yeah. On our very first date, I dislocated his shoulder. I didn't even find out until a year-and-a-half later, either. He apparently popped his shoulder back into the socket and kept on going. Who does that?!?!
You would think that's the end of the story, but no. No, it's not. In another spectacularly brilliant move, I got stuck at the end of the haunted house, and they had to send someone in to get me out. In my defense, it was not my fault... okay, it was a little my fault. They planted another chainsaw-wielding clown right next to the exit. A smart person would have just scampered past the clown, and been done with it. I stupidly decided to make myself as tiny as possible, and curled up into a ball on the floor. The line inside the haunted house got so backed up that they had to send someone in to get me the hell out.
So, yep, that's the story of our first date. I dislocated Mr. CP's shoulder, and got stuck in the haunted house. When I eventually found out that I had dislocated his shoulder, I asked Mr. CP why on earth he thought it was a good idea to stick around for a second date. His answer: "I figured things would never be boring with you around." True. That.
To Mr. CP: I'm very glad you stuck around for a second date, love. I'm so fortunate that I get to laugh with you every day! Happy Anniversary!