Now, I know I can ballroom dance (despite what my friend Jon tells me that that stupid boy from our ballroom dance class told him -- then again, that stupid boy needs to realize that "Nick" is spelled with a damn "C"), and I can display a passable effort when I'm out on the floor with a group of friends, but give me any sort of forum in which I have to actually dance for others, and well, we've got a problem.
Clearly, a career on The Block is not in my future, and, social-life be damned, a private show isn't either. My apologies if that was something you were hoping for.
Since I've been sick this week, I decided to forgo my usual Monday night Body Step class and take Body Jam instead. Since it's billed as "Just as many calories, not as much bouncing," I thought I'd be easier.
Easier my ass...It was like the world's most screwed-up production of A Chorus Line. Except in the titular song (get it?) the score is more like "Dance 3, Looks 10."
You know what? Scratch that, it was worse. Imagine this: They went right, I went left. They lifted their arms up in a graceful way, I flung mine around like I was swatting flies. They were shaking it like extras from "Coyote Ugly," I was **barely** managing the African Anteater Ritual from "Can't Buy Me Love."
Yes, I'm serious. Except, remember, Dempsey had some style.
I am DETERMINED not to let this beat me. I will persevere, I will get better, and, dammit, I will burn a ton of calories doing it. The instructor is an incredibly patient woman who knows that while I'm not the most talented person in the room, I've got heart and sense enough to stay out of the way (most of the time...I hope that girl's ankle is ok...).
In the meantime, if you want a good laugh, I'll see you Mondays at 6.
UPDATE: As my sister lovingly (ha!) pointed out, I was a dance minor at JMU. However, my concentration was mostly social dancing. Tango, swing, and foxtrots are my forté. Tap, not so much.
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