Israeli dancing.

Tonight I learned – nay – was reminded that there’s a reason why my parents didn’t sign me up for a second year of ballet and I dropped out of Israeli dancing class in sixth grade.

I can’t dance.

Well, that’s not true. I can bump and grind and rock out in front of any mirror any day. I can create a buzz on the club dance floor (or in the corner, or on the bar) if I’ve had the right cocktail of coffee and sugar. But I can’t dance in organized forums. Like dance classes. For beginners. It just doesn’t work.

And the funny thing is, this is a chug I could really participate in without needing to be, or pretending to be, 100% Israeli. Though I understand all the Hebrew anyway, dancing is visual, not verbal.

I’ll probably go again. But next time I’ll try to keep the laughing under my breath.






Whadya got: