In stitches tonight. And telling myself very sternly: I mustn’t, I mustn’t, I mustn’t laugh AT.. .
Because really I am not.
Its just that of the two dance classes I go to, the Tuesday night one – which is much more aerobics in the style of zumba than pure zumba dance – has always had about it a touch of schooliness, with bad girls at the back and loads of giggling. Far more than the other dancier class, which I usually do on Wednesdays or Fridays or, if feeling especially fit, both.
Tonight was no exception and, since an ad in the local papers had filled the hall up with a whole load of newbies, there was an added element of chaos to the proceedings.
First up, my two giggly friends were on fine form. And out of synch. But not consistently so. If they were definitely out of synch with what the dance Mistress (?) was doing then that would be easy: I’d just do the opposite of what they did. But half the time they were and half the time they weren’t and, since the addition of new bodies made it decidedly difficult to see what was going on at the front, I was well out of synch for some proportion of the time.
No harm done, really – apart from the niggling fear that seized one of them that I might inadvertently end up in the kitchen. Not quite such a daft thought, since I was at the far end of the line, with an open hatch to my left. It hadn’t quite occurred to me, but the thought, once out, that I might do some Norman Wisdom-style dive into the area, was enough to set us off AGAIN.
Then there was the young first-timer, who just looked thoroughly alarmed by the entire proceedings. Which was sweet and sad and amusing all at once.
And yet another first-timer who took up position on the front row and managed to be out of synch almost 100% of the time. Not too bad when all you’re doing is stepping off on your right foot when everyone else is starting left: seriously scary when most of the class is moving rapidly two steps to the right – and you’re doing the same, but leftwards.
All good innocent fun – she didn’t appear in the least abashed by it – and more than enough to lift my spirits for a short hour on an otherwise uneventful Tuesday.
And its not as though I don’t make my own fair share of mis-steps. I’m better at this movement lark than when I started – but there are still numbers that leave me struggling, which is a large part of the enjoyment of it.
No-one is especially brilliant – and even if some of those just starting have some (literal!) faux pas to make yet, they are no different to the mis-steps that all the rest of us have made, keep making.
Tonight’s dance cul-de-sac, for me, was a routine to a song by Shakira. It involved making vaguely football-related steps, which I think I objected to on principle. Still, I remained puzzled: why were we doing football moves to this song.
Er: because this was the last world cup song? The taller of my giggly friends suggests.
Oh! So it really has something to do with football?
Sadly, yes. Which may be why it is the song to which I continue to flounder.