Vebu Laughed

by GfG on October 25, 2010 · 6 comments

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The rumor going around my church is that I’m taking belly dancing lessons.  Hell-o?!  That’s simply not true.  Seriously.

I am taking Bollywood dance lessons and that is *not* belly dancing, thankyouverymuch!

I bought the Groupon for four Bollywood dance classes and even talked Dr. Mole into signing up with me.

Walking into our first class I immediately felt like a dinosaur.  The teacher (and I use that term loosely, she was more like the model) looked like she barely had her driver’s license, her name was Vebu.  Dr. Mole and I started guessing, via eye signals, exactly how old Vebu was.  Then she glided across the floor demonstrating the first bazillion steps and I felt like a dinosaur on Valium.  Then she told us to go ahead and try the first bazillion steps and I felt like a dinosaur on Valium who had just played dizzy bat.

There were six students in that first class.  We smiled and danced (and I use that term loosely, it was more like wiggling and wishing) and acted like we were sure it would all come together for us.  We tried and tried and tried.  We studied her moves and willed our bodies to cooperate.

At the end of the class I was exhausted and just barely hopeful I had learned the dance when I found out the entire number had lasted a total of one minute and thirty-two seconds.

Then I’m pretty sure I laid a dinosaur egg.

Next class it was down to us and Vebu, who confessed her prime to be a whopping seventeen years.  She continued to be sweet and patient and most likely, delusional.   After reviewing the first dance (for you know, almost two whole minutes) we started learning a different kind of dance from a different region of India.  It was a lot more active and a little less difficult.

I’m thinkin’ Vebu had reconsidered her lesson plans.

We jumped and hopped to a Bollywood version of  “Pretty Woman”.  I kid you not.  This time we actually broke a sweat.  Vebu was a darling and showed us moves we didn’t remotely understand again and again.  While we laughed at ourselves attempting steps that were highly unnatural to us but flowed out of Vebu like she had been born doing them, she just smiled and not once hinted that maybe, just maybe, she thought the two forty year old women looked ridiculous.

At the end of the second class we had mastered (and I use that term loosely, it was more like mostly recognized) another dance and pridefully strutted out of the room.  This dance was a full two minutes this time, so we basked in the 33% advancement.

For our third humiliation, after reviewing the first two dances for her remedial (and I don’t use that term loosely) students, Vebu had a dance from another region of and influence in India.   She laid it out for us and I’m pretty sure my jaw dropped.

And I laid another dinosaur egg.

No one ever called us quitters, however, so we held our chins high and focused.   That lasted about five moves and then we just started giggling again.   It wasn’t that we thought the dance silly, we just thought the two dinosaurs in the mirror (which by the way is the best way to convince a woman she needs to lose weight…. have her dance in front of a full wall mirror for an hour, hellacious)  were quite entertaining as they stumbled  behind the ever graceful and svelte and lovely Vebu.

She smiled the whole time and repeated and repeated and repeated, ad nauseum, the steps for us.

We didn’t finish learning that dance by the end of the third class, but Vebu had high hopes for us.  For sure.

Then, yesterday was the last class.  We reviewed the two full dances and then started working on the last one again. The first part of the routine was getting there and believe it or not we started to catch on quickly (and I use that term loosely, I really mean quickly after fifteen attempts) to the middle section.  We worked and worked on the middle.

Then she changed the dance “a little” because “it’s better this way”.  Ahem.

When we got to the last section of the dance it happened.

Vebu laughed.

It caught me so off guard that I didn’t know she had laughed for a second or two.  Then when I did, it took even longer to register what she had laughed at.  It hit me like a ton of chicken tiki masala.

Vebu laughed at us (and I use the term loosely because I’m pretty stinkin’ sure she was looking right at me, but I don’t want to spare Dr. Mole any of the humiliation).

It was a reflex.  An honest to goodness sincere laugh based on the hilarity before her that simply could not be denied any longer despite her attempts at kindness.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if it had happened once, but the poor little gorgeous waif continued to giggle during the rest of the super long  (I used the term loosely since it lasted two and a half minutes) dance exercise.

It couldn’t even be ignored.  Though Dr. Mole and I snort laughed through lots and lots of our lessons, it was just humiliating to have Vebu join in.

I walked out of the Bollywood dance class proud of the fact that I could learn (and I use that term loosely since my family asks to see the dance every night when I get home and I can barely remember more than five moves in a row and/or a total of fifteen steps in total) a foreign style of dance without hurting myself.

Except for my dinosaur ego.

How have you been entertaining yourself or others lately?


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