This morning I went to see my friend’s belly dancing class perform in Steinbach. It was a group of women ranging in ages from 20s to 60s, and, since it is Steinbach, I’m going to assume that about 80-90% have some Mennonite in their background. (Their ethnic heritage has actually nothing to do with the dancing. It’s just that now that I live in this part of the country, I feel suddenly allowed to say the odd Mennonite joke.)
The beginners went first (in black tank top and pants, with a big scarf on the shoulders and coin belts on their hips) and did a short dance. Then my friend’s group was up — with the full-on decalled bras and everything. I think I may have blushed. (At least I felt like I should have been blushing — or at least I wanted to.) I didn’t quite know where to look, if I’m being honest. The dancing was good and my friend is a good dancer, but it all made me a little uncomfortable at first.
So, why is that? Is it because just that morning as I was getting into the shower I was so mad at the way I looked? Was it because I’m just not used to gyrating around, and when I do do that kind of thing — almost always as a joke — it’s not the kind of thing that Marc notices? (Although when I did some impromptu tap dancing for him a few minutes ago, Marc said he would’ve looked up from his book more if I’d been nude.) Or is it because I think I feel I am at my most vibrant, alive, and sexy self when I do a tax return quickly and correctly?
I guess sexy comes in all shapes and sizes. Belly dancing Mennonites. And half-bold, half-shy, mostly Norwegian moms who like taxes.