The last time I was in a choreographed dance was in the fourth grade. I still remember quite accurately the palpable excitement in the air, the stage, and the feeling of giving it my all to the rhythm of "Singing In The Rain" complete with raincoat, umbrella and all the enthusiasm my little 9-year-old-heart could muster.

You haven't lived until you've kicked up your heels in dance while twirling an umbrella.

Since then, the YouTube sensations of surprise dancing flash mobs re-ingnites that little 4th grader desire in my heart to dance in unison with others. Sadly, though I do love to dance, I can't do anything remotely choreographed. Step on your toes? Sure. Turn left while everyone in the class turns right? I'm your gal! Accidentally smack the poor soul next to me while ~~desperately flailing~~ dancing to the beat? YES!

In other words, I'm no threat to Beyonce.

So last night at the gym, you can imagine my chagrin as I realized I accidentally walked into a Zumba class, not the kickboxing class I was expecting to participate in. Can someone tell me why, oh, WHY am I twirling around, flailing my arms, two-left-feet-stepping it and shaking what my momma gave me in a room full of strangers? WHY?

These shoes, clearly, weren't made for Zumba-ing. =(

Happy Wednesday!