Hot

(Hawt? That's how the bf spellz it--he says it means "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful." I'm still a little confused, either because he's a lot more brilliant than me, or because he wants me to be confused. Either way, it always makes me laugh hysterically.)

When it's cold outside, I'll do a lot of things to keep warm. I won't talk about all of them, but I will talk about dancing.

I realized a while back that I do not have a natural talent for dance. The graceful genes passed me by, and most of the time I'm ok with that. Until I see myself dancing in a mirror (or, even worse, a video--ouch!). Then I want to hide in shame. Or take dance instruction.

I did social dance at BYU and wasn't bad. Then I did Irish dance my last semester. It's hard to tell how good I was, because I always had to dance the guy's part. Way to remind me of the time in high school when a friend called me Gargantua.

Tonight I went to a class called BodyJam. It's at my gym. It is not Zumba. And it was really fun. I told the instructors afterwards, and they were very flattering.

"Oh, this was your first time? Really? But you must have done dance before."

"Nope. I'm a runner. Not a dancer."

"But you looked so good!"

Aww, shucks.

I think one of the weaknesses of our culture is that it encourages us to lie to people while thinking we're telling the truth. I'm sure it never crossed their minds that they were stretching the truth in order to make me feel good, and I'm sure they are inherently honest ladies. Because, really, the most that can be said for me is that I didn't fall down.

But. I'm going back next week.