I just got home from my teen/adult jazz (beginner) class. Beginner my ass. Out of four women, I was the only one who’d never danced before. (I don’t count one month of tap in high school for a musical or ballet as a six-year-old that I promptly quit.) Two of them were teenagers who used to dance when they were little, which actually meant until they were about 13. They’re 16-17 now. The fourth woman used to dance. So…yeah. This is going to sound…I don’t care how it sounds. It’s true. I can’t remember the last time I was the worst at something in a group of people. It’s a little bit stressful, even when the class is fun. But it’ll get better (I’ll get better), and I did enjoy it, and now I’m REALLY annoyed that I’m going to miss the first tap class on Thursday. I’ll be SO behind next week. At least I didn’t have to worry about what I was wearing. Only one of the teenagers was wearing little dance shorts. The older woman was wearing long loose yoga pants and a blouse-y top, and I wore my capri yoga pants and a tank top. Perfectly acceptable.
Oh, crap. Gotta run. There’s laundry to do before I can pack for this wedding.