I was running down the street with my orange yoga mat tucked under my arm. Wearing my favorite black tank top with a thong riding up my ass under my yoga capris. My flip flops were slowing me down. That and I was all strung out on leftover dog antibiotics for kennel cough. That's when a car pulled over.
"Did you register yet?" A stranger asked.
"I can't find the community center! I thought it was the visitor's center but that's closed." I replied.
"It's all the way down the street and you're already late. Hop in and I'll give you a ride there. But, then you'll have to book it all the way back into town."
"Oh, thank you so much!" I said and I climbed in.
So far nothing was going as planned. I wasn't supposed to be sick, lost or late. My nose was red and crusty and I looked vacant and stoned covered in sweat. At least I had spent an inordinate amount of time choosing just the right black tank top from my substantial collection. If I couldn't dazzle Rachel Brice with my complete lack of coordination, I wanted to look good. So I made sure I didn't have any visible panty lines in case she happened to catch a glimpse of my ass. I knew it wasn't important or likely, but it's the little things that give you confidence sometimes. I had already spent the whole week freaking out about today. I'll take whatever boost I can get. So a push up bra is definitely a must.
|Image of Rachel Brice stolen from the internet|
I am the fastest registerer in the west apparently. Who knew? I hoofed it back to town with a manila envelope, an official name tag and my yoga mat, water, cough drops, tissues, chap stick and some extreme exercise induced coughing (which is fantastic for your abs by the way). And, I made it in time for the class and was in the same room as Rachel freakin' Brice. The only space left was in the front of the room next to the woman who kindly gave me a ride to the community center. I'm not a front row type A kind of person. I'm a back row quiet stalker type b kind of girl. So automatically, I was completely out of my element. Cause I'm convinced my element would be something more like lithium. Unless it's argon. I'm not sure.
Why the hell am I even here? I'm taking up space that a coordinated person who can actually do tribal belly dance should be filling. Until class started. And just like me, everyone was completely transfixed watching Rachel dance and listening to her soothing husky voice. Then it happened, I just danced like no one was watching. Cause no one was. Honestly, I did some of the best dancing I've ever done. I can say this because there was still no video or photos allowed. So there's no physical evidence to the contrary. What I thought was going to be completely intimidating turned out to be completely inspiring. Maybe the psychedelic dog antibiotics calmed me down enough to see that. Does it even matter?
I danced in front of Rachel freakin' Brice and not just on a dvd in my living room. Oh, she made direct eye contact with me several times. Yes, several. And she didn't even laugh. I can't say whether she noticed I didn't have any panty lines or not. Not that that even mattered anymore by this point. Now all that mattered was I didn't hit her with a projectile snot loogie during my hook turn. Or start barking mid class, which I figure may be a side effect of taking leftover dog antibiotics.
At the end of class I took my little orange camera and all my goobiness right up to Rachel. And I went right in for the only photo opportunity I had to show that Rachel and I are indeed black tank top twins. Sort of. Obviously, I'm the taller, older, much less coordinated and talented twin.
|Me and Rachel|