Bellydance

I was excited when I didn't flunk out - and moved up to class two. But Trish is laid up from her surgeries, which rules out Amber, and Phylandra decided to take another class on Monday nights.

Now, bellydancing isn't as much fun without my girls. The girls used to giggle when we goofed, and made it fun.

And Good Lord above, Bellydance II is hard as hell. It doesn't seem like it would be hard, we're just doing veils and zills.

Who would guess clacking your fingers together would be difficult? But I never realized they're clacked in a pattern, and that each hand has a different pattern. Add to that pattern of 1, (right hand), 3 (left hand), 7 (right hand), 3 (left hand), 5 (right hand). Start over.

In the meantime, walk. Not just any walk, but in time to the music. Swinging your hips, or twisting your hips.

Three things at once? Are you kidding? So I got the bright idea that with all those clackers clacking, no one would be able to tell if I was doing a pattern or not. I started clunking both my hands at the same time, to every clack. Pretty soon, the rest of the class starting “hmmphing” me.

Apparently, the witches could tell I faked it. Not that I fake everything, mind you. Yes, we're talking about the Big O here. I just figured I would practice later...on my own.

Phylandra and Amber would have giggled when I was busted. Trisha would have burst out laughing, and then gotten hushed herself by the crabbies all around us.

But there, by myself, I'm outnumbered. And now, when the teacher says, “Do this move again, and try not to look slutty...” I know she's talking to me.

Because my Trish isn't there to take the blame.