Last night I had to tell Cody to quit looking at a baby.
Wait, you didn’t go to Hooters on Valentine’s Day? Pobrecito, because we did. (Cody wanted wings, I wasn’t going to argue.)
Technically the wings were dessert since we ate this before dinner:
Tiny little scoops of ice cream you dip in melted chocolate, I wholeheartedly support the dipping of tiny little scoops of ice cream in chocolate.
We were serenaded on a bus and Cody was slammed face first into the sand when he underestimated a wave and it pancaked him from behind. (Sadly I missed the live version but his reinaction was divine.)
This was probably the best Valentine’s ever, surprisingly it wasn’t the turquoise water, chocolate fondue, massages, or white sandy beaches that made it the best ever.