Alter Ego

Want to hear a fun fact about me that might both surprise and puzzle you?

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I have a long, passionate slightly awkward history with dance. And no, that picture is not of me. 

I am aware that this fact is true of most chicks. Many of us took the obligatory ballet classes, donned the fabulous gold shimmery leotards, and hopped around on a stage at the infamous recital, which only a parent could sit through and enjoy. 

The part that you might describe as "surprising" is that my childhood flirtation with dance mutated into a funky hip hop obsession in my adult life. On second thought, if you know me maybe this is not all that surprising. I've certainly been known to overtake a dance floor and whip my hair back n forth on more than one occasion. 

The dance fever bug happens to be contagious. 

"Steph Dance"

Even my fiance can't escape the infamous, you guessed it, Steph Dance. 

You get the picture. When I die, at least people can say I was influential in that I inspired people to impersonate my wild and scary dance moves. 

I digress. Promise this is going somewhere. Back to hip hop. 

I decided to take my affair with recreational dance parties to the next level when I started taking hip hop classes 2 days a week during college. 

I did the moon walk. I could bust out an entire number choreographed to Ke$ha's "Tik Tok." I learned the steps to "Single Ladies" and shook my booty like a regular Beyonce. I was a natural. 

Plus, my class happened to fall on a Thursday, the storied evening each week when fellow diligent Notre Dame students would hit the classiest club in town. After spending an hour pretending I was the star of a music video, I was all warmed up and ready to take on the dance cage each week.

Fast forward to graduation, a time to become an adult, a real person. No more funny business, just real business. So I dropped the shenanigans and business lady I became - which also meant my alter ego disappeared. 

UNTIL. Until last Wednesday. My booty shaking, sassy-faced alter ego reappeared with a vengeance! I have a soon expiring Groupon to a dance studio blocks from house, so the excuses had to come to an end. I slapped on my leggings and my converse. I was ready for action. 

Then I stepped in the studio and remembered that this was downtown Chicago, home of real hip hop dancers with baggy cargos and red mohawks. 

I don't think we're in South Bend, Indiana anymore.