there are two incontrovertible truths i learned this morning: one, never allow yourself to be taken in by a sweet old lady saying “we’re just a bunch of seniors trying to get a bit of exercise.” second, i dance like a white chick. a white like the underbelly of a fish.
jo caylor is a very sweet gal who lives a few blocks from me. we move in some of the same circles so i might see her and her husband at a party. we might chat or we might exchange a bit of gossip. on facebook, jo often has a saucy comment or a question about why everyone is lol-ing or lmao-ing. but i don’t spend a lot of time with her or really get to know her. that doesn’t happen on facebook or at somebody’s kasimir pulaski day party.
she said she wanted to take me to a zumba class. zumba is a latin dance exercise program created by alberto perez who was once a choreographer for shakira. jo said it wouldn’t be too tough because this class was just for seniors. jo is a lifelong dancer, having performed on the paul whiteman television show out of philadelphia. parts of her life sound like hairspray but without baltimore or a drag queen for a mom.
she had a contract with the rockettes when she was fifteen, but alas, she was too short and never quite grew to the minimum five foot six inches required of a rockette. i should have known better than to step into the ring–oh, i mean dance floor.
the class was taught by a perky blonde with no tits and a six pack. it was hate at first sight–but only because she was so damn nice and perfect. argh. i tried to film some of this but it was impossible to hold a camera–i flopped about like i had been pulled from the lake and couldn’t figure out how to stand up in the boat. here’s the aftermath:
well, that taught me something!
jo had a story she wanted to share with me and anybody who can sucker punch me with such elan should be listened to: she said her father was dining at a rooftop restaurant in karachi, india one afternoon. he had ordered a beer and a sandwich. the only other diner was a solitary, unremarkable looking man seated nearby. the beer and the sandwich were delivered. jo’s father reached for the beer. as he took a good long pull, a vulture swept through the dining room, taking both halves of his sandwich in its claws and then alighting out a window. while bemoaning the loss of his sandwich, jo’s father noticed the other diner had placed his napkin over his plate.
“you have to be quick,” the man said.
and that was part of jo’s advice to me this year. be quick and expect vultures to steal your sandwiches. or perhaps, what she really meant was to expect surprises.
and i do!