Adventure: Hip hop dance classes

I like to fancy myself a dancer. Rather, in North America, I’m good enough to hold my own in non-choreographed situations. In South America, I’m not so bad that I stand out.It has long been my fantasy to attend a hip hop dance class. I think I need to add some thing to my menu other than a) shaking it like a Polaroid picture or b) shaking it like a salt shaker. So after nearly three months of talking about it, my lovely friend Jill and I finally braved the wall to wall mirrors and popping of Essence of Prodigy dance studios.

Like all good Virgos, I knew that any adventure is best undertaken in the appropriate outfit. In a perfect world, I would have worn this:

In reality, I went to the Salvation Army and bought a pair of sweat pants without trying them on. If that’s not going a situation that spells success, I don’t know what is! When I got home, I assembled my not-particularly-awesome outfit of cut-off sweatpants, unflatteringly cut tank top and shell toe Adidas … the Adidas being my only real hope at street cred here.

On the way to the studio, Jill and I discussed what exactly we wanted from this class.
1) hot instructor who’s helpful, but not skeezy, and doesn’t do that thing where they stop class and stand next to you, teaching you the jazz square while everyone rolls their eyes
2) awesome moves we could use on our next ladies’ night, preferably something slightly slutty
3) no intimidating, professionally trained dancers masquerading as students.The latter point is particularly important, because when it comes to trying new things, I have the emotional maturity of a seven year old. I’m not immediately good at it? It’s kind of challenging? I have to talk to strangers? I’ll probably just sit at the back of the class and sneak out during the break.

But you know what? We rocked it! Or rather, I didn’t totally embarrass myself and stayed through the whole class. I persevered despite nearly falling on my face several times, the instructor spending three minutes trying to teach me (and me exclusively) some serpentine crouching move and having to watch myself crotch thrust in high-waisted pink sweat pants in an entire wall of mirrors.

I did, however, learn this awesome move, get a great work out and reconnect with my 18-year-old, danceline self. I bet she’d be really disappointed by my high-waisted sweatpants.

 

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