For my birthday adventure this year, I decided to plug my (non-Mormon) Sister Wives into a private Zumba lesson. I should be up for some sort of Logistics Industry Award for herding these cats and getting this scheduled between 5 busy women, 1 busy instructor, and three separate re-bookings. So yesterday my kooky collection of kindred spirits joined me in a session that I’m eternally grateful got nowhere near Instagram, YouTube, or Facebook…a mere 58 days after my birthday.
You can count on my friends for shenanigans. Yesterday was no different. My favorite Southie Sister Wife pulled down her runner’s pants and hovered her sweaty ass above the floor fan as the instructor’s back was turned, doubling me over in laughs. Next up, my favorite half-Sicilian, half-Irish Sister Wife grabbed my hands and turned a solo meringue routine into ballroom dancing. (I’m unsure which of us was the dude in this scenario.) And then there was Ophelia. As we stood there post-Zumba, all glistening and tomato-faced, she discovered they offered pole fitness classes there. And now we all share in the knowledge that Ophelia is impressed by strippers who can hang from a pole by just the sheer strength of their bare legs. Her parting shot: “Why I’m even at a strip club is another story…” One of the Sister Wives reminded everyone that our local strip club offers “Pole Dancer Amateur Night,” but the final consensus was that we were far too amateur for even that. Baby steps.
This morning I shared this meme below with my Sister Wives. Ophelia fired off a comment right away: “No, we definitely looked more like the first picture.” I remember it a little differently. Let’s just say my dyslexia with numbers also extends to my Zumba moves.