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Over the Thanksgiving holidays, my sister and I took a Body Jam class and did a Sh’Bam workout routine, both of which incorporated hip-hop and Latin moves. (Yay for us doing werk over the long weekend and working off all the shit with which we stuffed our pie-holes!) The Sh’Bam routine we did at my sister’s house, but the Body Jam class was taught in an actual fitness center where one of the walls was a floor-to-ceiling mirror. And there we were, right up front.
I love to dance, but my crippling whitness prevents me from looking good while doing it. Most of the time I don’t care, since 90% of the time I dance after I’ve thrown back a few glasses of mama’s grape juice, but during the Body Jam class, I avoided looking at myself. I was really getting into it, and I felt like I looked like this:
In reality, I probably looked like this:
But I wanted to keep the dream alive, so I just ignored my reflection and went on with my life. And in my head, I was the best dancer in the class. It’s my delusion and I’ll believe if I want to.