I signed up to take a class advertised as “Aqua Zumba”.
Turns out the aqua part was true – it was in a pool. But the Zumba part was just another way of advertising a water aerobic class at a gym exclusively for grandparents.
But there I was: wearing a bikini that I also would have worn on a Spring Break trip to Cancun, Mexico, about to dip my electric-blue painted tools into a pool alongside two handfuls of women all over the age of 85-years-old.
They didn’t ask me why I was there or how I found the class or even about my questionable bathing suit choice.
They didn’t even ask me whether or not I was single. They just told me, even before I fully emerged myself in the pool, that they had a grandson named David, named Harrison, named Adam that I just had to meet.
In the middle of the class, the lady next to me, Barbara, giggled a little bit, and said: “I’m happy that I don’t need to leave the pool when I have to go to the bathroom. You know what I mean?”
My eyes bulged. I had a warm feeling I knew what she meant.
A lady, in the front of the class, out twerked me.
A lady behind me knew every single world to a Pitbull song that was just released.
35 minutes into the class, I dunked my head underwater and laughed. I laughed so wonderfully loud.
Life is such a hilariously beautiful adventure when we stop paying attention to the little details and find ourself in the weirdest situations.
Aqua Zumba or Saturday water aerobics on the upper east side with a crew of women who can dance underwater better than I can, is officially my new favorite thing.
