I’ve mentioned before my love for Zumba, an aerobics class based on Latin fusion and hip-hop. It’s fun, doesn’t feel like exercise and you get to wear pants with streamers and tassles on them. (Hubs calls them “butt pasties.”)
Problem is, once you put on this pants, you want to set those hips in motion. And mine are rapidly approaching the 40-year mark.
Ever since I got those pants, I’ve been gyrating like a maniac. Last night, I got a little carried away during a merengue and pulled a muscle in my lower back.
Even so, I just ordered a purple pair of pants from my instructor. I may incapacitate myself before my birthday, but I can’t wait to make those tassles twirl!