Harrison is here, he's seven months old now (eek! How did that happen?), and I still have lots of Harrison fat all over my body. So, it was time to join up again. I've decided that it's best for me to join a class, or else I'd get on a treadmill or some other sort of machine, and once I broke a sweat decide that I'm done. In a class, I'm stuck for a full hour. An hour of jumping and twisting and "dancing" and sweating.
Yesterday I went to a class with an instructor I'd never "danced" with before. Remember Ronnie from Can't Buy Me Love. Who could forget him? Remember this? (I just went back and watched this clip, and it's long. Longer than necessary. I'm not smart enough to figure out how to only post the section necessary to get my point across. Nor am I patient enough to research how to do it. So just the first couple of minutes are all you need to watch. If you choose to watch at all. Heck, you might have stopped reading after the first paragraph, so I'm just wasting my breath right now.)
Yeah, that's how I felt. Except the crowd didn't watch me and want to copy my every move. I'm just not that cool.