See, I used to be able to dance. I used to bust a move (or so I thought) at all of the high school dances. And then when I could get into the 18 and over clubs, I'd bust a move there, too. In fact, this one time in Ocean City...well, that's another story.
But the point is I could dance. I've done it so many times. Slow dance. Fast dance. Freakin' electric slide and cha-cha and line dancing. I've got it all covered.
Right. So this morning I decide to walk into a zumba class. I've heard it's fun, way better than regular aerobics, so much so, that people who never work out otherwise swear by their zumba classes. Since I've been regularly working out every morning, I figured zumba couldn't be that hard.
It's not that zumba is hard, no, rather I just can't dance. After a full hour of failing to (accurately) move my hips, boobs, shoulders, and butt it's a good thing I wasn't being graded on how well I can salsa. Or tango. Or gangsta rap. Give me weights any day over watching myself flailing and failing to dance. Ugh.
Nevertheless, I may go back and humiliate myself further come next Tuesday. I may not be in South America but I might learn how to move my hips within the next few weeks. It's a valuable skill, fluidly moving one's hips. Or so the zumba instructor tells me.
I cannot fluidly move my hips either. I took a salsa dance lesson two weeks ago and got yelled at by the instructor. It was embarrassing...
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