Stepping (gingerly) onto the dancefloor. Or table.

Tomorrow, I shall be attending my first hip-hop dancing class. Technically, it'll be later today, but I stubbornly cling to my body clock rather than the beast of Greenwich.

Dance lessons have always been on my to-do list, but sufficiently low on the ladder to ensure that I never got around to them. I think they ranked just below climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, but a tad above learning what 'qua' meant. Ah, qua. The online dictionary does not do the word justice. Comprehending Qua is the philosophical equivalent of hazing.

If ever a post of mine digressed...

There are three reasons why I'm taking a leap into the supple and sultry world of hip-hop dancing. For one, my dancing skills were put to the test on a night out last Friday, and I was found a little wanting. Of course, I was slightly tipsy and on a table at the time. (Of course...) The audience seemed to approve, but I felt my performance lacked that special zing. Zing being a precious combination of technique and rhythm. Ah, Coyote Ugly... Secondly, I've finished college, yet I still have some dignity intact. This problem ought to be remedied, though as you can see from the preceding few lines, I'm an excellent problem-solver. The primary reason, however, is that the opportunity simply presented itself.

This should be fun. :)