Last night…I dreamt…that somebody loved me.

Okay, just kidding. I just can’t get that song out of my head. Let’s start over.

Last night…I went to a bellydancing class. It was through the auction at Franny’s school. I asked if I could buy-in, but in the end I just ended up showing up, because so many women flaked out. One of my mom-acquaintances at Franny’s school, Whippet, had to call around just to get someone, anyone, to show up. I was promised cocktails and treats, so a gaggle of wild Brandon Davises couldn’t have kept me away.

The hostess, a mom of two kids in Franny’s class who has been bellydancing for most of her life, had a trunk full of harem pants and veils, which she insisted we help ourselves to. A lot of the blather was about children and school and husbands. There was much eye-rolling about the fact that many husbands would be expecting to see what we learned. Whippet kept referring to my companion as my husband, and another mom turned to me and said, “You’re not married, are you, SJ?” I said, “No, I got two babydaddies and no husband. I’m a ho.” There was some laughing and murmuring that I should have had my sangria cut off at that point, but what they don’t realize is that I will say things like that at ten a.m. on a Sunday.

I learned some pretty cool maneuvers, but I’m not sure that I want to pursue it. I am feeling the effect of doing “snake arms” this morning, which makes me want to start weightlifting again. I don’t think I have the temperament to shake my jelly like that. If I did a performance, I would have to overcome the urge to start jumping around karate-chopping like THAT four-year-old who should probably be medicated, or at least made to run laps daily. I think I’m more suited to kickboxing or at least jumping around like an idiot.

But it was fun. The company was good, the sangria was cold, and the baklava was delicious. Whippet got a little too drunk and criticized the class on our walk home, saying there was “too much dancing, and not enough drinking,” but it was really okay. How can you complain about doing something new on a Saturday night, that doesn’t involve your babies being on your jock, asking for snacks or emptying out your kitchen drawers? I like taking a break and only being responsible for myself for a few hours. And it got me invited to a weekly playgroup this summer, so that will keep tiny whiners from getting too bored.