Same Place, Same Time

When my best friend, Marina, first suggested we should start going to Zumba, my reaction was a heartfelt groan. “Oh no, Ri, don’t make me. Please.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why not? It’s meant to be really good fun. And let’s be completely honest, we could both do with shifting a few pounds.”

I shot her a dirty look, followed by a sigh. She was right—I did need to get rid of my spare tyre, but still... “Yeah, but I don’t see how jumping up and down in a room full of svelte, perky, ponytailed women is going to help. And I certainly don’t think it’ll be fun.”

“It’ll help because it makes you sweat. It’s exercise. Do you remember what that means, or would you like to look at a dictionary? Besides, I doubt it’ll be full of svelte, perky, ponytailed women.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because if they’re so svelte, why the hell would they need to go Zumba? I reckon it’ll just be normal women, like us, of all ages, wanting to get fitter and lose a bit of weight.”

She made a good point. “But I’ll feel like a fucking idiot dancing about. I’m not the most coordinated person on the planet, am I?”

“No, but it’s not a bloody dance class. We’re not training for a spot on Strictly Come Dancing. Stop making excuses, will you? We’re going!”

Knowing that arguing any more was pointless, I conceded and allowed Marina to drag me along to the next...