I love to dance. Always have. In my youth, I spent countless nights anywhere that had a band and a dance floor. Save that surfer shit for someone else. Soul music was my bag and DAMN! I had moves!
Today’s music, as James Brown might say, is a whole “new bag.” When my gals Jessie J, Ariana, and Nicki belt out “Bang! Bang!” or Iggy Azalea promises “I’m Gonna Make Ya Pay For It,” I get my ass up and get down! I’d been thinking about taking a dance class for some time just for fun and a little exercise, and so it was with great excitement that I went to my first hip-hop class with my dearest friend in tow for support.
It was a class for beginner adults. To me that meant beginners at hip-hop, not beginners at adulthood. Alas, the class was filled with young, nubile bodies still flexible from being able to suck on their own toes. No matter. I had experience on my side.
The teacher is a twenty-something young man, adorable with a crown of platinum hair atop his otherwise black locks and a smile that could power the entire town. The warm-up jumping jacks nearly kill me, but hey – I didn’t come here to do no stinkin’ jumping jacks. Bring on the beat! And he does. With Bruno Mar’s “Uptown Funk” blasting from his boom box we’re off.
For some reason, it didn’t occur to me that we’d have actual choreography. I’m mortified at my inability to even remember the moves, much less actually perform them. I try to squeeze myself into the back row, but my “dearest friend” had already taken the last place and the bitch won’t budge.
I joke with the teacher that he’s doing 78 rpm’s, while I’m barely at 33 1/3. He has no clue what an “rpm” is, but clearly having been taught to respect his elders, smiles at me politely.
This wouldn’t be the first time my skills were vastly out of proportion to my confidence. Still, I am tenacious – and I’ve already paid for the entire month. So the following week, there we are again – me and my dearest friend. I make it to the back row before she does, then realize I can’t see the teacher from there because of all the previously mentioned young, nubile bodies. But I am better this week. Out of 24 moves, I’ve nailed the first four. Take that, bitches!
By summer, I should have it down.