If you were wondering how to annoy me at Zumba . . . 

I went to Zumba at the La Crosse YMCA yesterday.  I loved it in Dubuque, and since my Dubuque membership is still valid and I have some guest passes through it, it was free to try here.  Yay!

I got there fifteen minutes early, not because I'm a stickler for punctuality but because, as previously mentioned, I don't have a lot of other pressing appointments these days.  My early arrival meant I was able to pick out pretty much any spot in the room I wanted.  I didn't want to be in the front row since I wasn't sure whether or not they used the same routines as the Dubuque Y.  I didn't want to be too far back, though, because if they did have different routines, I wanted to be able to see the instructor so I'd have a clue what was going on.  I planted myself firmly in the second row, slightly left of center, with a clear view of the instructor.

Imagine my frustration when, three minutes after class began, a straggler came in and stood right in front of me.  Seriously?  Go find a spot in that wide open back row, lady!  Can you not see that you're not in an actual row?  There's the first row, and here's the second -- you are in neither!  Technically she was between me and the lady to my left, so saying she stood right in front of me is a slight exaggeration.  But seriously, one late step on her part and I'd be kicking her in the keester.  She was that close.

It became clear, though, that she would not be making any missteps.  She was clearly an every-weeker and knew all of the routines without looking at the instructor.  How do I know this?  Because she rarely broke eye contact with herself.  Facing the front, she admired herself in the front mirror.  Turning to the side, she admired herself in the side mirror.

What do I mean by admiring?

Have you seen Toddlers in Tiaras?  Or the cheerleading competitions they sometimes have on ESPN?  I'm gonna guess this lady has lots of that stuff on her DVR and watches it frequently.  You know the facial expressions I'm talking about -- extra cheese.  Cheese overload.  Cheese that's not attractive on little girls or teenagers, let alone forty-something Zumba class participants.  The kind of cheese that makes you uncomfortable, because you're not sure if they think they're sexy, or want you to think they're sexy, or what it is exactly they're going for.

I tried to look around and see if anyone else was noticing this.  Or heck, were other people doing this?  Maybe here in La Crosse these faces were encouraged during Zumba.  I glanced surreptitiously at my dancing comrades and realized, nope, just her.  Some women were laughing at themselves.  Some women were huffing and puffing.  But only one was seducing her reflection.

Don't be so judgmental, I told myself.  Maybe she has a really tough job, or an unhappy marriage, or teenagers who are embarrassed to be seen with her.  Maybe this is her one outlet . . . her one chance to really live it up.  I tried to give her some grace.

But then she winked at herself.

I kid you not.  In one particularly risque Zumba move, we did two chest bumps and a booty roll . . . at which time ilovemyselflady gave her reflection a naughty come-hither look and winked.

I considered vomiting.  Really, I did.  It was super hot in that room, with fifty women sweating bullets, so the conditions were right with or without this lady making me want to hurl.

I kept going though, pretty much because a) with all the baking I've been doing, I needed the calorie burn, and b) I'm hoping to make some friends here, and interrupting Zumba class with a pukefest probably isn't the way to do it.

The jury is still out on whether or not I'll go back . . .