The Flasher at Latin Aerobics

I used to believe in the power of willpower, that nothing within my control was impossible if I set my mind to it. As my good friend once told me "U Gotta Hit It with Your Mind".

Armed with sheer determination, I told myself that THIS time, yes, this time, it would be different. My friend texted me she would be late so I made my way to the class first. Despite my being slightly early, there were already 7 ladies there so I could not take the prime spots just behind the instructor, nor could I see myself clearly in the mirror. Especially since I'd left my glasses (for driving) in the car.

The music starts and I find myself jumping and hopping to the right and to the left like a drunk one-legged toad with my hands held up in front of my face and the other knee crocked at a ninety degree. The instructor on the other hand looks really cool and I figure that I am just being too harsh on myself. I study her back as intently as I can - she is wearing a muscle-back shirt and I can see the flesh on her upper back wobbling.

So I try to shake as hard as she does to make my own back fats move in time too. It does not require great effort, having a great deal of them. Then the instructor lets out an insane cackle of laughter and starts skipping around. This makes me very excited. I want to prance too, like a pony, like a kid, oh watch me, I am young again!

Between prancing and making sure I shake every bit of me the way the instructor does, AND with my view of myself in the mirror obstructed, I forget how I look. I want to hit this with my mind, so my attention is focused fully on the person I must mimic.

When we do a side move and I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I am horrified. The waistband of my too-small shorts has rolled down to below my lower belly to expose my bright red panties. It is the action of moving my knees upwards to my belly that has caused this. I roll up the waist band of the shorts over my panties quickly.

I want to believe that the instructor bears me no ill will. But the next few moves involves bending over, wiping the ground and again my waist band rolls down when I bend down. I cannot concentrate any more, I cannot hit it with my mind anymore. The universe seems to be conspiring against me. How can I draw flowers in the eye or draw an imaginary violin when 1 hand has to keep rolling up the waist band of my shorts.

I tell you - it has to be a conspiracy of sorts to keep me from being the star of this show.