Fourteen Minutes.

Unintentional date night in. While looking for the newest episode of Modern Family, we found the CMAs. We watched approximately two totally inappropriate minutes of gross dancing, and that was the end of that.

So we did what any normal parents would do while their kid is in bed: Cranked up my newly created playlist, "Songs That Don't Get Old," and just went crazy.  What started out as a romantic slow dance in the living room quickly turned to a little friendly competition. Subtle cues from the two-minute CMA fiasco may or may not have made an appearance in our kitchen.

Perhaps the term "date night" is a bit of a misnomer. It wasn't so much quality time together as it was each person focusing on their own moves so as to one-up the other.

Many times, this meant my wife screaming, "I have been doing this thing with my arms for five minutes! Just. Look." But I couldn't, because I was in the middle of a rodeo move on a kitchen stool, and I wasn't about to be interrupted.

Not to be outdone, she looked at the clock at 8:46 and declared, "I will not move at all except using dance moves until 9:00." Her eyes were apparently bigger than her belly-dance, because the next thing out of her mouth was a collection of gasps, and then, "It's only been 4 minutes?"

She kept her promise and shimmied the whole 840 seconds. We will definitely be filling our evenings with dance-offs more often.