Zumba.

There. I said it. I went. I realize that I am pretty much morally opposed to everything Zumba stands for: perkiness, bouncing, yelling, and middle-aged women doing a less explicit version of twerking, but I went.

And, surprisingly enough, I didn't hate it.

I went along with my sister, because we are both trying to get in shape and I felt like a class would be a good thing because then everybody can move at her own pace. It was good in that way, but what I didn't realize was how much I enjoy laughing about things.

I know. Where have I been?

It was hilarious. The only one who didn't look like an idiot was the instructor and everyone else was all stiff and flailing about, so I felt like we looked okay. Also, there were people who acted like we couldn't do it.

So, of course, we did.

When the first person made the, "Weeellllll, maybe you should try a video first" comment, we knew this was happening. I didn't care if they had to drag me out of there by the ankle and throw me into my car, I was going to go and make it through the whole class and not break into a sweat.

Except there was some sweating. Which I hate, but it was a decent workout, so that was pretty much inevitable.

Halfway through the first song, I started thinking, "What if someone farts? What if I fart? Will I able to keep from laughing?" I pretty much giggled about that through the rest of the class, which I have to say, wasn't too bad. It's no worse than fast-walking four miles on the treadmill, which is what I normally do.

So I think we'll go back. Most of the other ladies seemed nice, and there's always the nickname factor, which ups the hilariousness of any situation. 

But I still won't be yell or be perky. If that day ever comes, watch out. The sky may fall and then we're all in for it.