Day 95: Zumba!

It took a full day to cure my wedding hangover. I didn't realize how much I drank. Simon and I tried to do the math and we figured we had about 3 drinks per hour for almost 12 hours. That's a lot of booze and I'm in definite need of some physical activity. Between that, our big family dinners and the pause of my Body Attack class, I'm feeling less svelte that I was a mere few weeks ago. I was in need of a work out.
It was almost as if the god's were listening to me. A neon pink flyer with a photo of an attractive girl with defined abs who appeared to be dancing with bouncy bubble letters above her head that read 'Zumba' showed up in my mailbox. It was an advertisement for a Zumba class for 5 dollars at the neighborhood VFW hall. I asked my mom if she wanted to come In a burst of excitement, she agreed to come. "I've heard of that! It's all the rage in the city." my mom said. All the rage scares me...
We arrived and no one resembled the girl on the flyer. It was filled with adorable bite-size old women all wearing little sweatpants who were all standing in clusters around the room. After signing up, we had a cup of the complimentary coffee offered and my mom started gossiping with a woman named Shirley who was wearing a faded 1986 New York City Marathon t-shirt. Rumor has it that jazzercise had been canceled and replaced by Zumba and there was some community concern regarding the bold change. This was the first class and there was buzz on what to expect. The VFW men were lined up, sitting in the back of the room on nylon woven beach chairs. "The flyer is very sexy." Shirley said with wide eyes, "I think that's why the gentlemen are here."
Moments later, the 20-something year old teacher who introduced herself as Cynthia walked in holding a boom box and wearing yoga pants and a sports bra. "Are you ladies ready? Woo!" she asked with exaggerated enthusiasm. She got up on the stage and did a quick run through of the moves we would be doing during the class. She gave each move a little name so we'd remember, names like "Holding Candlestick", "Lift your dress up", "Booty Pound" and my personal favorite "Rump till you dump". "What the fuck are these names?" my mom whispered to me. My guess is that my mom didn't want to rump till she dumps, whatever that means...
The music started and the instructor started warming up by shaking her lower body to Marc Anthony while encouraging us to follow. There was an air of skepticism in the room as the women looked at each other in horror. As the token youngster in the room, I followed Cynthia while shimmying closer to my mom. "Get the hell away from me!" she said while shooing me away. All the other women followed suit and the class had begun. I made eye contact with an old man wearing a visor who gave me the thumbs up.
"This is pornographic!" one woman said before storming out. The other women in the class tried their best to keep up with Cynthia who apparently was unhappy with our performance because she turned the music off to go over the moves again. "Maybe we need a refresher course of the moves that I taught you 5 minutes ago." she said with exasperation while placing emphasis on 5 minutes ago. "I can't move like that!" a crotchety woman announced as Cynthia was swiveling her hips and running her hands through her hair. "Me neither!" another woman cried out. Cynthia gave up trying to get us to do the moves perfectly and proceeded with the class with less enthusiasm as she had started off. We managed to get through the hour without pissing her off too much. 
My stomach is sore as if I did 500 sit-ups and not so much from Cynthia's class, but from laughing so hard. We all looked like idiots but it felt great. I will definitely be going back one more time before I leave for Paris.