Pretty fly for a white girl?

Have you ever seen one of those movies where the main character really wants to do something that she's no good at? When she first starts she is really, really bad. Then, she works really hard and practices and practices, and by the end of the movie she's the hero? And the champion at whatever she didn't do well before?

I hate those movies.

But, I thought maybe I could be my own little butt-kicking hero with a happy ending when I started taking hip-hop classes.

Now I've decided otherwise. Not by choice, but by default.

My friend Aaron turned me on to the idea of dance class when he did it last term. He said 'It's a great way to break a sweat, meet cool people, and learn some moves.'

Break a sweat? Check.
Meet cool people? Check.
Learn some moves? Um....

I can Macarana like you wouldn't believe, and I love to go for a boogie on a floor of people, but this white girl can't dance hip-hop to save her life.

There are 20 people in this class with me. None are amazing at hip-hop. About 15 of them are former dancers, though, and have lots of grace in their movements. The other 5 have great memories and can remember each move through a routine.

I have neither grace nor memory.

I am just plain awful.

Do you see that girl in the middle who is standing when everyone else has shifted into a squat for the next move? Or the one who's going right when everyone else is going left? OR the strange, rigid, arthritic-looking one who is gracelessly meandering on the floor, one beat behind?

That girl? It's me.

I have no hope of bringing sexy back.

My poor instructor... he probably agrees.