Hot diggety, folks. I’ve gone and done it. Been selfish and signed myself up for something completely and utterly me!!
I’m not doing this for the girls. Not for DH. It’s not even for writing. Or fitness. This time? It’s all about me and feeding my soul.
I tried this particular activity a couple of years ago, but wasn’t ready to let go of my “good mom” tendencies and was therefore thwarted. Soon enough somebody’s schedule interfered with mine and then before I’d known it, I’d caved and was carting kids to their functions again, completely oblivious to my own.
Not this time, though. This time I’ve channeled Cruela, so the little ones better be careful. DH, too.
It’s CLOGGING time!! Work it out now!!
Just so you know, we’re not talking the clunky wooden clogs. Instead we’re referring to the streamlined, svelte and sexy (snort!) little doohickey’s to the left there.
And what do you do? You make the taps (front and back) click. Repetitively and with as much precision as possible. I don’t think my group has ever bounced quite like the couple above, but one can hope right? 
DH calls it “tickety, tickety” dancing, because that’s what it sounds like when I practice alone, but when you get a room of us going? MAN, there’s no better feeling than thumping and clacking out Bad Moon Rising or swiveling and snapping to Baby’s Got Her Blue Jeans On. The vibrations come up through the floor and reverberate though my soul. It’s that good. As good as chocolate. Oh yeah. I’m serious.
Classes start September 7. You know where I’ll be!!
So I’ve been AWOL the last few days. With good reason, though. First a whirlwind tour to far flung parts of the country (well, at least to another province) to visit the in-laws at their little cabin in the woods.
I’m bearing up under the strain.