Zumba This, B$#@*!

You know how much I love zumba, Graces. It is the one fitness activity that I have discovered that I genuinely look forward to. Most others I view as a sacrifice on the altar of thin. (or in my case, not thin exactly, but acceptably curvy.) So imagine my dismay when yesterday's class was ruined for me by some lollipop who thinks she's Beyonce.

In case you are not familiar with the term lollipop, it refers to a person who is abnormally thin from the neck down, giving the appearance that her head is overly large. There are swarms of them in Hollywood, think Victoria Beckam or Renee Zellweger:

but the species is far less common here Philadelphia. Cousin to the lollipop is the BOS (boobs on stilts) or TOS (slightly more vulgar version of same), with the curves having been tacked on by the marvels of modern medicine. But back to my Zumbic horror tale...

So, there I was, early for class, water bottle and towel in place, having staked out my fave spot toward the front. This is not for vanity or exhibitionism, rather to compensate for my bad vision. I don't like to wear glasses lest they fly off during a particularly energetic spin, so I need to stand fairly near the teacher. I am partial to this one spot up front because there is a pillar directly behind it, thus preventing anyone from stationing themselves right behind me. (I feel strongly about personal space; note to self: cover that topic in post next week.) Imagine my pique when the aforementioned lollipop arrived five minutes late (another Gracepeeve) to a rather full class and plunked herself directly behind me in the no-dance zone. Imagine my further pique when she inched slowly forward with each step, leaving me to choose between being slugged by her flying hands and feet or surrendering my coveted spot.

Well, Graces, you know what I did. I did what Graces always do, which is to compensate for the bad behavior of others. I moved over, telling myself that it was obviously very important for her self esteem to be front and center, availing herself of a full view of her gyrating hips and totally immobile artificial breasts. This forced me to encroach on my neighbor's spot, which troubled me greatly. I apologized to the encroach-ee after the class, explaining that I had been summarily shoved over and had no other option without starting a battle for territory.

So even though I took the higher ground, I had much less fun in Zumba yesterday. And I can't have that. Since Graces, like the Boy Scouts (minus the homophobia), always plan ahead, I am considering strategies on how to prevent a repeat offense next week:

1. Let it go. She really seems to need the attention, rude though she is in her quest for it, and based on her shape and its enhancements, I should pity rather than censure her.

2. Speak up (A). "I'm sure it was an accident last week, but you kept moving into my space and that forced me to move over several times during the class. Please try not to do that again. It makes it harder for me to follow the instructor and pushes me into other people. It's a crowded class so we all have to be mindful of our space so no one gets hurt. Thanks."

3. Speak up (B). "I know this class is popular and spots are first come first served. I arrive early to get this one so please don't move into it while I am standing here."

4. Speak up (C). "Yo, Black Swan! Take you, your microscopic ass and your fake boobs and step to the rear. I was here first, Dammit."

Class is Thursday, so stay tuned, Graces.

And a parting clip--I'm a total sucker for BritComs--we've all been here--in fitness class, kind of wishing you were somewhere else, paying no attention, and suffering humiliation when the entire group is on to crunches while you, oblivious, continue jumping jacks.