Working off the Ramen Noodles, One Hip Swivel at a Time

I'm two steps behind, bringing up the caboose, a straggler, trend follower. Call it as you may, but I finally took my first Zumba class. My friend invited me to go with her, and as we were walking in, I said, "well since you've done this already, I can rest assured that it's not going to be sexy Brazilian moves." She casually replied, "no it is!" OH. I'm Irish and have tacked on a few or more extra pounds. I was nervous I'd have to zoom-ba right outta there.

It was amazing to a fault. As in, I want to be a Zumba instructor. The biggest problem was the mirrors. Those freakin mirrored walls will get you every. time. I was bouncing around feeling so good, feeling like I had the Brazilian Rhythm (how hard is that word to spell, seriously. I just googled it three times.) Then I would catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror (and the lady behind me staring at my underwear lines in my spandex) and I realized that probably the closest thing to me becoming brazilian is my dark hair and pear shaped body. But honey, that di'nt stop this dancin' machine.

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I looked less like the girl in the foreground, more like the lady in the teal in the background. With spandex, to boot.

What failed me in the mirrors was quickly rebuttaled in the class of ladies. (Friend not included) There was a big chested lady of about 6'1, a 220 pound man, an anorexic looking teenager with oversized feet, and better yet, the instructor was funky, cute, but she was not necessarily Rio de Janeiro ready either. AND to top it all off, her cool down music was just as amazing as the Brazilian rap. No sarcasm: (thanks, Pearls, for the hint)