Dancing to Your Own Beat

I'm annoyed about gaining the Obama 10, so I dragged my lazy butt to the 8:15 Jazzercise class this morning.

Everything about Jazzercise cracks me up. I'm amused about doing dance routines to gangster rap with a bunch of women in their 40s and 50s.

Today, I was extra amused by the lady in front of me. She reminded me of that extremely drunk girl who starts dancing by herself at about 1:45 a.m. I don't know what music she was dancing to - but it wasn't the Jazzercise music. Her arms were flailing around - it was hilarious. She also wasn't wearing a bra. Granted, she didn't have a lot on top, but it wasn't where it was supposed to be. And, personally, I feel not wearing a bra only encourages gravity.

Although, I'm a little bra obsessed. Sometimes I wear TWO sports bras - I'm THAT paranoid. It all goes back to 7th grade when my "best friend" (frenemy?) called me Pepa because she thought I had droopy boobs that looked like salt and pepper shakers. Darn locker rooms. She was probably jealous that I had something to droop. The boys called her Mosquito Bites because of her flat chest. (They called me Beast because they thought I was ugly so that wasn't much better!)

In fact, I was paranoid, I slept in a bra until my senior year of college when I read an article that said sleeping in a bra increaseed your risk for breast cancer. I doubt it's true - but at least it freed my girls!