DrBob’s gym is right nearby. Like, 5 minutes away. He’s thinking of switching, he hates the showers. I couldn’t care less since I shower at home, but he always showers at the gym. It may have something to do with the way his eyebrows fall off every time we get another water bill? I wouldn’t know, I never look at the water bill.
Anyway. A good thing about this gym is that you don’t have to join, per se, you can just pay €66 and get a card good for ten visits or classes. So I did that, and I’ve been going to a class on mondays at 5 called “So You Think You Can Dance.” Its primary focus is exercise, but the teacher’s a fan of hiphop (and he’s really good at it). In my head I call it “Gee, I Thought I Could Dance,” because you know, I did study dance at university, and I was never great, but I wasn’t bad.
But then I had kids. And now, I am bad. Now I have all the rhythm and groove of an angry bull sea elephant, galollumphing over his wives and children to confront a burly intruder. Awrk. Still, I will keep going, for awhile at least. All the cycling you have to do in the Netherlands has not proven, um, slimming. Nor did the weekly “dance-conditioning” class I took with my neighbor from February to June. Maybe this will have an effect.
It’s actually already had one unexpected benefit: since I’m gone every Monday from 5 to 6, someone else has to see to dinner. DrBob immediately announced that he was too busy, so it falls to the boys. (Ahem, DrBob has shown up to “help” them every single Monday, so I suspect he was merely applying Psychology. Whatever, it works.) So I come home to dinner made, and the kids are learning to cook. This I can live with.
Song du jour of the day, since the Netherlands beat Uruguay and will now go to the World Cup Final! Wij Houden van Oranje, by Ali B ft. Andre Hazes. Is cheezeh, but I loves it.