I found my groove this morning. That’s right, baby. The ‘ole Lisa has still got it.

And what has happened to bring forth this new character who is writing today, so smug and cocky and completely full of herself, you ask?

Dance aerobics.

Oh yeah, sugar. Dance aerobics is back. I’m talkin’ sweat-drippin’ hip-shakin’ high-kickin’ pelvis-thrustin’ dance-like-everyone’s-watchin’-and-you’re-lovin’-every-minute-of-it Olivia-Newton-John aerobics.

I don’t know whose bright idea it was to trade dancing for stepping, anyway. Did they think they could improve upon perfection by putting a stupid step in the middle of the floor and telling us to march and hop over it (and in my case, usually trip over it)? I felt like an enlisted military person on steroids and caffeine.

Give me the good old floor, some latitude to incorporate my own style, some Fergalicious music, a good instructor, and I’m good to go.

The only things missing today were the high-cut leotards and leg warmers. I might have to wear those next time. 😉

Woo hoo! Bring it on! These legs were meant for dancing; spread out and give a girl some room…

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