Last night’s adventure was a Bollywood dancing class. For
those unfamiliar with this style of dance, watch any cheeseball
low-budget Indian movie, or the last scene of Slumdog Millionaire. Done well,
it looks beautiful. Done by me, it’s a total calamity.
My trusty sidekick Rhonda is a courageous soul. Every so often I lob an email her way titled “hey,
wanna?” followed by some absurd adventure. To be fair, she does the same to me…
I have a jingly belly dancing wrap as a result.
So when I tossed her the Bollywood dancing email, she was on board. She’s a brave girl. Or a total lunatic.
I arrived late to class. The room has a glass wall
overlooking the parking lot. As I rushed from the car, one minute late, I
looked up to see a room filled with women in the midst of a full on Bollywood dance
routine. I assumed it was a previous class of people who knew what they were up
to. Until I spotted Rhonda, doing her best to shake her hips. She glared at me and whispered foul words in
my direction as I entered the room.
“I’m doomed” I thought to myself as I snuck into the back
corner. The lady at the front was strutting,
kicking, twirling and twisting. The class attempted to keep up. There were a few collisions and much laughter. It seems the rule from
Zumba class also applies here – just stand there and wiggle, and eventually
everyone will catch up to you.
The best part was the audience. People walking by the room
would peer in the windows, laugh, point and mock. They would wiggle back at us
in fits of laughter. The custodian was entranced; he smiled at us warmly as we
escaped the room. He understood – we might look like fools, but we’re out there
braving something new and having fun.
We survived. We might even go again. Except next time, there will be alcohol
involved.
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