Death of the Disco Diva

I'm thinking of 1978, Air Force boot camp barely behind me, motherhood a distant dream in front of me. By day, I was the buttoned up, Airman of the Month, secretary to a very junior Captain. By night... I was the disco queen. (***note to Mert - stop laughing! Remember YOU came of age in the very ugly 80's!***) Dancing came easy to me, show me the steps and I could do them, with practice, I did them well. Hustle's of every kind: New York, Jersey, Swing, Latin, I could do them all, stone sober or drunk. I played a little tennis in those days, strictly hacker, but I had a backhand, forehand and when my brain said "run left", my body cooperated. What has brought back all these moldy old memories you ask? A little disc of torture Princess has contributed to our exercise routine.

It's called Cardio Dance Blast (you can thank me later for warning you). Looks inocuous enough, pink cover, I like pink, with a picture of an average looking brunette, smiling, leaning comfortably to the side, lots of bright white teeth. Princess swears I'll love this workout ... "You like to dance, Mom, this will be easy for you!" Another cute little girl with lots of white teeth. Eventually I'll learn to avoid these people.

I watched it first. From my comfortable position in my favorite chair, nursing my tenth bottle of water for the day, it didn't look too bad! A little cha cha, a couple of old disco moves, a little stripper dance (minus the stripping) tossed in. Hah! Piece of cake for an old exdancer like me. And since I'm honest, it isn't all that bad, unless you're closer to 50 than 40 and you've spent the last few years in closer proximity to a computer than a treadmill. I feel like a marionette operated by a four year old. My legs and arms do not want to move in the direction the perky little leader is shouting out. My mind says "grapevine, grapevine, together, cha cha cha", my body is still grapevining while my mind is cha cha chaing. Let's not even discuss where my arms have gone to in the middle of all this. Princess finds it immensely funny, I'm sure she laughed off 2 or 300 calories in my inaugeral attempt.

Now I'm mad. I may have to color my hair to cover the gray, wax off a better mustache than my son can grow and live with the stretch marks of five kids... but time will not steal my ability to DANCE! Princess is away at work and the DVD payer beckons... thank goodness for pause, repeat and skip.