D-D-D-dance class

Now, until I become a world renowned blogger, and dye my hair blue, both of which may, and possibly will never happen, We all know what I'm talking about when I mention dance class. So, we all have had different experiences, weather it's sweaty, clammy boys, or shuffling back and forth in the one spot, being selected by the perverted dance instructor and forced to dance the samba with him, running into people you thought had ceased to exist as soon as you left primary school many years ago, your hair flying madly, encasing your face in a ball of hair as you pass the fan, whipping your poor partner receptively in the face, wearing shoes that you can no longer walk in (just a side note; suck it up-Hobbling down the street like a monkey forced into a pair of heels is not faltering. You look ridiculous, and if you bought them, and chose to wear them, then you have to suck it up. You know how it's going to feel. And you know what's undoubtfully going to happen, so, either wear them and pretend like it's not hurting.... or hobble down the street like Peter Petigrew, your choice) SO no matter what type of experience you've had, wether it's been good or bad, hopefully you've learnt that none of us can dance.. at all....