For the past two Tuesdays, little Mark and I have attended a hip-hop dance class. This all started a few weekends ago when the Rhodes were displaced from their home due to a sewer problem in Ridgegate. Their mom was looking for something fun to pass the time. And here we are...
Despite dancing (tap, ballet, and jazz) for nearly ten years as a youngin', my coordination does not carry over into hip-hop. We have learned two dances thus far, and I continually look in the mirror during class and repeat what the Navy boys have been saying for the past 10 months. "You are an upper body dancer. Why don't you try moving your legs or something?" My retorted response is generally "because Shoreclub is not a place to break it down fellas."
Boy am I glad I never had that extra beer to put the courage in me and try! I am going to chalk my lack of flow up to my lengthy legs and awkward height (yes, I know that I am not 6 feet tall but let me just lean on this height thing as I make my point). Half of the girls in the class are pretty darn close to 5 feet. They just simply move better. I think my only saving grace is that there are a few VERY uncoordinated men doing the two-step in class, making me feel much better about myself at all times.
Next week we will begin learning the dance for the showcase in December. In case you are wondering, I will not be participating. Not, I said.
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