Today I took a Zumba class. I fully expected to run smack into another person, or maybe a wall, but it was surprisingly fun and dare I say … easy.
Allow me to clarify: I am clearly not a dancer and I have zero rhythm. I do not know how to do the salsa. However, I did manage to perform a sort of dorky, white girl impersonation of the dances and I never had to stop and take a break. Based on these facts, I declare it a success.
Also, some lady totally pulled her shirt up at the end of the class to wipe her face, and she took her sweet time doing it, which allowed everyone to get a nice long gander at her business. It brought me happiness and relief to know that if I ever do happen to yank up my shirt in the middle of a Zumba class at my local YMCA, I won’t have the mushiest midsection or the saddest boobs there.
One more thing … before the class began, I overheard a lady talking about how she just dropped her kid off at the nursery and there was “a little baby with an LSU hat on that was just crying and crying.” I smiled and interjected, “that one’s mine.”
I thought it would help me make a new friend.
It did not.