I’m still recovering from my realization that Super Bowl Sunday has nothing to do with super bowls and everything to with grown men yelling at a television. Not cool Dad, not cool. On top of that, Jose the gardener came to the house twice this week because something got into @roberttherubberchicken and he chewed through some of the rose bushes. They needed to be replaced. We all know that Jose has never really liked me, nor I him, but when he tried to throw me under the bus for the bushes our relationship officially escalated from frenemies to straight up enemies. To make matters worse, my dog walker suddenly decided she needed to lose a few lbs and proceeded to make her problem my problem—turning our leisurely afternoon walks into uphill sprints. I was also up to my nose with interview work and my assistant, @georgietheclefty, was on vacation (must. be. nice.).

Needless to say, I’ve been a little preoccupied. So this morning, when my boss announced he needed a few volunteers to chaperone The Droolitzer Valentine’s Day dance, I nearly collapsed in the boardroom. The Dance?!?! How could I have forgotten?!? I usually spend the first two weeks of February dreading the annual company event and brainstorming excuses to get me out of it. Somehow this year caught me totally off guard. With only three days left, I had to come up with a convincing reason not to go—fast. If you thought your first middle school social was awkward, multiply it by a million and you’re still nowhere near how bad this newspaper’s dances get.

Two years ago, not really knowing what “dance” meant, I asked my long time girlfriend @lolliethebullie to go with me on a date. But when Lols asked me to hit the floor and dance the Two Step with her I ended up stepping on all four of her paws and while drooling uncontrollably all over her tutu. I quickly learned that dancing wasn’t my thing and vowed never to attend another dance related event. But then my mother decided to chaperone last year’s dance and I was forced, totally against my will, to try yet again. That’s when “The Accident” happened.

If I remember correctly (and I do), Patricia the Portuguese Water Dog who works in reception asked Bronco the Brazillian Mastiff who works in the mailroom to be her date. They both speak Portuguese after all. Everything was fine until Carl the Chihuahua from publishing had too much water and boldly asked Patricia to dance with him instead. Poor Carl, Dog rest his soul. Bronco said it was an accident, but everyone suspected otherwise.

This year was going to be different though. My mom was so busy with our pending house move that I was sure she hadn’t seen my boss’s email about chaperoning. Lola was out of town lecturing at a #humantraining101 seminar and I had made plans with my best mates to hang out on Sunday night and do nothing. There was no time to embarrass myself.

I made the executive decision not to mention anything to my mother. What she didn’t know could only make life better. When I got home I was very attentive to her every need—I pretended to be far more excited to see her than I actually was and faked enthusiasm when it came time to take her on a slow evening walk. Then we watched Pawn Stars on the History Channel with my dad. There was no way she had Valentine’s Day on her mind! With confident spring in my step I hopped upstairs and headed for bed. But just as I was about to snuggle down I saw something unusual on my pillow—a little package with a note attached. A gift?? For me?? But as I sniffed closer my heart skipped a beat. There, in the box, was a red polka dotted bow tie. The hand-written note read: “Can’t wait see you hit the dance floor in this on Sunday! Love, Mom”