I danced Gangham style at a holiday party, up in front, where people could see me. I am well aware of how awfully I dance. I did the same at a recent birthday party. (both times without Dutch courage)
I rode on a roller coaster. The real kind. I hate the feeling of falling, but my daughter really wanted to try one out. She held my hand as we got on the ride.
Premium content for only $0.99
For the most comprehensive local coverage, subscribe today.
I wear Halloween outfits that are more elaborate than a black shirt, black pants and some cat ears glued on a headband.
I let magicians and clowns lead me to the front of audiences in order to toss balloons over my head or lend me wands that bend. I make kids laugh and never let on that I read the Magic 101 book too.
I've had my face painted to match my daughter's and dyed my hair to better match hers. The blonde streaks and tips made me look less like a natural brunette blonde and more like someone who swam a lot.
I've done silly dances, made funny faces and spoken in Mel Blanc worthy voices.
I've worn tutus and butterfly wings. Disney character shirts and macaroni necklaces. Hair glitter and pink neon stockings.
I embarrass myself completely to put a smile on my daughter's face.
I am looking forward to the day she is so embasrrassed of me doing these things that she
asks begs me to stop.