...and 5,6,7,8...

Last night, we started dance class. "We???" you ask? Yes, WE. Basic dance, chacha, swing, tango...the works. How did it go? Well......

We arrived 5 minutes early, having just had a very nice Indian food meal and forgetting the breath mints.

There were about 9 other people there, 7 women, 2 men, all pressed against the wall as if it would have collapsed without them. Mike asked me, "why is everyone squished up against the wall?" "Nervous," I explained, as the gentleman next to us leaned over to whisper, "TERRIFIED."

Eventually, about 15 others trickled in, followed by a short, stout asian woman in her 40s with teeth like Austin Powers in the first movie. She walked around the room for about 5 minutes, fooled with the stereo, avoiding all eye contact, and finally turned to us.

"Welcome to 'Let's Dance!' This is not ballroom dance. My name is Linda Lees and I will be your instructer for the next 6 weeks. (6??!! My registration form says 5). In this class, you will be learning the ChaCha, the East Coast Swing, American Tango, and a fourth dance of your choice! (oh, woohoo). I have been dancing for 40 years, and just finished shooting a Mountain Dew video..." (okay, need to stop for a sec. Mountain Dew? The glow in the dark soda marketing to 15 year old boys and X-Games enthusiasts? Since when does Mountain Dew cast from the AARP casting list?) Anyway...

At this point, Mike is getting nervous, checking himself out in the mirror. I am already regretting my choice of footwear. And she starts taking ATTENDANCE. I wait. And Wait. And Wait. That certainty growing in the pit of my stomach that she's going to butcher my name..."Bill Nichols? Susan Ortiz? Mary Ortiz? Jaime (HI-MAY) Pona?" HIMAY??? I want to kill my parents at this point. Yes, Mom and Dad, I'm talking to you!

"It's Jaime," I say, sheepishly as I walk over to sign my life away. "WHAT?" she screams. "Jaime. Just Jaime." "You're name is Just Jaime?"

The whole class laughed. Sigh. Nothing like flashing back to the first grade, at 27 years old. But, an ally stepped forward. "Gerard?" "Gerrad," I hear from behind me..."It's Gerrad." "But it's says GERARD here..." she insisted. "Yes, I know. But it's pronounced Gerrad." "But there's an R here..." she continues. "It's just JAIME," he replied, winking at me. The class is in hysterics at this point. HMmmmm... I like him.

Anyway, before we know it, we're step/touching all over. She wants us to Freestyle after the first 20 minutes. Before I know it, we're rocking out to the Backstreet Boys. I have never felt as foolish as I did in the moment I found myself dancing next to my boyfriend, doing the step/touch to the Backstreet Boys.

But then we moved on. The ChaCha! I know the ChaCha! I can do the ChaCha! AHA!

But wait. Mike, not so much. At this point, the sweat is flowing, the lip is bitten, and I can see the counting in his head. One, Two, Chachacha. One, Two, Chachacha. Wait! He's getting it! Looks about as comfortable as a slug sprinkled with salt, but he's doing the ChaCha!!!

Then she does it. Ms. Lees hits the stereo. In 10 seconds, we're chachacha-ing in front of the mirror to Britney Spears. The class is sweating bullets as there's no air conditioning, and most of our ears are bleeding from the cacophany that she's making us dance to.

Now, maybe I was naive, but I had 'Dancing with the Stars' in mind, as opposed to "The Britney Spears White Trash Dance-Off." Should I be disappointed? But then, I look over...

There's Mike, chachacha-ing his little heart out. Hips swiveling, arms spinning, rocking out. He's like my own hairy Michael Flatley. And he's smiling. And then I notice - Our teacher has noticed too. In fact, she's been watching him the entire class. Smiling at him. Laughing like a little scary schoolgirl when he smiles back. Is she flirting with my boyfriend???

BITCH, first you get my name wrong, then you flirt with my boyfriend?

Screw Dancing with the Stars - The Jaime Pona White Trash Dance-Off is ON!!!