Try as I may, I am not a dancer. I can dance as well as the average person who goes out dancing with her friends once in a blue moon, but I wish I was better. It's actually on my bucket list, and I'd like to start sooner than later. But a terrible place to start would be the Zumba class I took this week. Nothing makes you feel more confused about whether or not you actually have control over your appendages than a Zumba class. I could barely focus on the steps because my inner monologue was screaming about how ridiculous we all looked.
Why do all of the songs sound the same?
There's no way I look attractive while doing this.
Why do they get to look attractive while doing this?
Oh, look at her. Making up her own dancing moves.
That's what I look like?
Why does the instructor keep wooing?
Now I'm just stomping around.
Oh, I get it.
Wait, now I have to switch feet? Nope. Don't get it.
Don't have us turn around. I can't see what you're doing when you do that.
The person next to me must think I'm so white.
Oh, who am I kidding? I am so white.
Hey, if we keep doing that move then I am totally great at Zumba.
I can't wait to try these new dance moves next time I go to the club.
