Tammie Thursday: Oompa Loompa Zumba…
There’s a new store in town.
They sell clothing and that’s kind of nice. We haven’t had a clothing store in our town for a while now and I’ve been forced to travel if I’ve needed to buy something.
While it’s true that I hate shopping, I do, on occasion, get the urge to buy something pretty. I want to have something to wear if I ever win the Publisher’s Clearing House Sweepstakes. Shut up! It could happen!
I keep my pretty outfit hanging by the door so if they come to my house and I see it’s them,I have time to change into my pretty outfit. Imagine how disappointed my stalkers would be if they saw me on TV looking like a hag in a feed sack? Anyway, I had the urge to go look in the new store and see if there was anything pretty that I could buy.
I walked into the store and browsed for a few minutes, trying to shake off that whole creeped out feeling I get in clothing stores. I know those stick figure girls that work there are not pale because they’re vampires but I still wonder if they’re going to attack me while I’m trapped in the dressing room and feed on me. Maybe that’s just me but it COULD happen…
I spotted a clearance rack and made a beeline to it,finding a cute little summer dress to try on within seconds. That’s the kind of shopping I like. Fast, quick and easy. So I headed to the dressing room and smeared garlic paste on the door,(I’m paranoid, so what?)Then I put on the dress. I turned to look at myself in the mirror and almost screamed out loud. I looked like a sumo wrestler wearing a Hefty garbage bag. That’s no shit either. It was just plain old scary.
I took the dress off, put my clothes back on and left the store as quickly as possible.
As I stood outside on the sidewalk, feeling disgusted and annoyed, I noticed some ladies. They were all wearing spandex, walking quickly past me toward a place called “Curves”. Out of curiosity I followed them, mainly because they could wear spandex and get away with it. There had to be some secret to this miracle and I was going to discover it.
I walked into this “Curves” place and there were roughly five or six old ladies swaying back and forth to loud latino music. One of the spandex women walked over to me and told me it was the senior citizen Zumba class, but the next regular class would begin in ten minutes. I decided to watch, mainly out of curiosity, and because I’d tried this Zumba stuff before. Let’s just say it didn’t work out for me. I’m not coordinated and Zumba might as well stand for “Zealously Undulating My Big Ass” because that’s about all I can do with it. So I figured that if the senior citizen class wasn’t terribly complicated maybe I could just take that class. I mean, all I’d seen them do so far was sway back and forth to the music. Even I could manage to do that.
Oddly enough, they were all dressed alike, in white stretch pants with elastic waistbands. They all had the same kind of hair style too. As they swayed and stretched their arms, moving like they were riding invisible ponies, all I could picture was a group of Oompa Loompas doing Zumba. Substitute the green hair for blue hair and it was pretty damn close. Then I began singing the Oompa Loompa song in my head while watching them and I burst out laughing. I just couldn’t help myself. It was hilarious and I was powerless to stop.
Everyone in the building was staring at me but I didn’t care! I was waiting for Gene Wilder to step out of the back room and clap his hands, telling the Oompa Loompas it was time to get back to work, but it didn’t happen. Instead, several of the spandex women asked me to leave. So I left, still laughing.
I suppose this means I will not be welcomed to this “Curves” place anytime soon. Meh…I’m ok with that. I can’t do any of those moves anyway. Besides, Swedish dancing is way more fun and I know how to do that. Maracas?
Maracas,schmaracas. They got nothing on an accordion. As I’m concerned Zumba can suck it!
You haven’t really lived until you’ve danced the polka to an Abba song played on the accordion, complete with the accompanying fiddles and guitars.
I’d rather be a dancing queen than an Oompa Loompa any day.
As for the pretty dress? I said to hell with it. Instead I’m thinking a Viking look might work or maybe a set of bunny footed pajamas, like the kind in the movie “The Christmas Story”. Both are a much better representation of my personality than a pretty dress.