Monday, 26 September 2011

All things bright and wobbly.

I've just returned from partaking in the ever popular Zumba class, red faced and sweaty as usual. Our teacher is a lovely lady who manages to move body parts in a fashion most of us could only dream of.(Like Shakira- only in Staithes). It's a good job my fellow zumbateers are all too busy concentrating to notice me and my bits wobbling, out of rhythm, out of time and a bit out of this world.
  I know that for most women the journey into motherhood is marked (permanently) with the arrival of stretch marks, and I take comfort in the fact that I am not alone. What does surprise me is the odd gathering of wobbli-ness that is my stomach. It feels unnatural and no matter of diet of exercise will ever change it. So why God, why oh why did you have to make the girl with the six pack stand next to me? You're probably thinking 'well she obviously has no children', but you are wrong. Not only is she a mother (to three children) but she is also my age. So as I'm sweating, palpitating and panting, the one with the six pack takes off her vest and begins dancing in her bra! Her beautifully tanned muscles, ribbed and glorious barely moving as she parades her flesh. One may be cursing her for being a show off/tart/idiot but in all seriousness, if I had a six pack I would never, ever, ever dance in my bra. I'd dance naked, in fact I'd be so darn pleased with myself I wouldn't bother with clothes full stop.
  So that's why I have wobbly stretch marks- because if I walked around naked flashing my six pack to the world- I'd get a bit chilly and arrested.