One of the highlights of my week is the 5.45pm Zumba class on Friday. The dancing makes me happy as a pig in mud and it signals the official start of the weekend. It's 45 minutes of dancing to latin music, some Bollywood, the ketchup song occasionally, Love Potion Number 9 rather frequently and much more.
My gym only started doing the classes recently. And over the past weeks I have seen the class grow from 20odd women to a record 45 or so yesterday. There were also three men, who I am pretty sure were there only for some oggling. Poor Indian dude may have had more sincere intentions but the guy couldn't dance to save his life. He just stood there staring at his feet trying to make sense of it all. Anyway. The reason for this increase in zumba-ets is not only due to the fun factor of this class I believe.
It must have something to do with Doni. Venezualan Doni. Professional salsa dancer. And sex on legs. That is, when he's dancing. I once saw him while grabbing a coffee and he looked awfully ordinary. But while dancing. Fock. I bet all 45-odd women were secretly hoping to be dancing in those strong muscly yet lean arms. Nothing is sexier than a man who can dance. Who does the manly stuff really manly and has the softness that goes with the more feminine movements.
Now the sexier I find instructors, the more I cover myself. So my Zumba class attire consists of long black running pants and a dark blue University of Stellenbosch poloshirt that I have had since 1997. Clearly not all the attendees think this way. The number of bare midriffs increases by the week. And the more flesh, the worse the moves generally are. These girls make me laugh. They stand in the front, don't seem to know their arses from their elbows and hang around after class to ask some undoubtedly very intelligent questions. Me? I simply hope my red face and not-so-latin hips have gone unnoticed and just massively enjoy myself.
My gym only started doing the classes recently. And over the past weeks I have seen the class grow from 20odd women to a record 45 or so yesterday. There were also three men, who I am pretty sure were there only for some oggling. Poor Indian dude may have had more sincere intentions but the guy couldn't dance to save his life. He just stood there staring at his feet trying to make sense of it all. Anyway. The reason for this increase in zumba-ets is not only due to the fun factor of this class I believe.
It must have something to do with Doni. Venezualan Doni. Professional salsa dancer. And sex on legs. That is, when he's dancing. I once saw him while grabbing a coffee and he looked awfully ordinary. But while dancing. Fock. I bet all 45-odd women were secretly hoping to be dancing in those strong muscly yet lean arms. Nothing is sexier than a man who can dance. Who does the manly stuff really manly and has the softness that goes with the more feminine movements.
Now the sexier I find instructors, the more I cover myself. So my Zumba class attire consists of long black running pants and a dark blue University of Stellenbosch poloshirt that I have had since 1997. Clearly not all the attendees think this way. The number of bare midriffs increases by the week. And the more flesh, the worse the moves generally are. These girls make me laugh. They stand in the front, don't seem to know their arses from their elbows and hang around after class to ask some undoubtedly very intelligent questions. Me? I simply hope my red face and not-so-latin hips have gone unnoticed and just massively enjoy myself.
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