Wind your body...

It seems I’m terrible at following instructions. There’s this svelte, gorgeous woman in front of me telling me to raise my hand, turn this way, look that way, shimmy shimmy shimmy and shake, and stop! And instead of copying her moves, I am mirroring them, turning left when she turns right, raising the left foot when she says right, and that too, a few seconds late each time. Ands I’m not even supposed to be here. My place is on the treadmill, in the other corner. In my sneakers. Sweating off that morning donut. Not on this lovely parquet floor. Barefoot. Shaking the belly I should be working off. After all, this is a belly-dancing class.

Yeah, it’s my slot at the gym and although I have about forty thousand left feet I couldn’t resist abandoning the treadmill and joining the circle of multi-shaped women aged anywhere between 17 and 40 who’d converged on the gym for a free belly-dancing class that happens twice a week. “I can make a fool of myself for free,” I thought. Yeah, I can totally do that. I’m doing it. So I scurried off to join them.

It was tough, it was fun, it was pointless. But that was the point.