So I've somehow accidentally become addicted to zumba.
(Well, let's just replace the word "addicted" with "a class regular once or twice a week.")
(Truthfully, I walked out of the first class I ever took because omg it was so freaking hard and I thought I was going to vomit.)
(But then I went back a few weeks later and fell in love.)
(Which I thought would happen the first time because I danced my whole life, so it should have been, you know, like a thing. A dancer thing. Zumba = Dance. Except the fact that I look like an idiot in zumba and if I told any of my classmates I danced my whole life they'd probably laugh like they thought I was joking and then they'd figure out I wasn't and then it'd be all awkward turtle.)
Wait. Where was I going with this?
*gets back on track*
So I usually get there super early with my Kindle/iPhone games and chill while the line forms. One particular day a few weeks ago, I was first in line. But by then, I'd started getting to know some of the regulars, so I'd turned around to chat with them--and by the time class was about to start, I turned back around and a girl was waiting in front of me. Now, it was pretty obvious she wasn't cutting to be a jerk or anything, she was just new and didn't realize that she needed to wait in line. Okay, and granted the line was long so it would have been obvious protocol--but in her defense, I had no clue when she'd arrived. Maybe the line was just a few people when she got there. Who knows?
Which is the somewhat convoluted way in which I come to my point. Conflict. I avoid it anytime I can. This is not meant to imply that I'm a pushover, or don't know how to stick up for myself or others. Believe me, I do. But I also pick my battles, and when conflict can be avoided, I take a different path. As was the case this day. I wasn't going to say anything to the girl who cut. Neither was the friend I'd been chatting with. But . . . Apparently not everyone felt the same way.
A woman about five people behind us in line TORE into that girl. Yelling and causing a scene.
It. was. SO. embarrassing.
For her, the yelling woman.
I mean . . . She looked like a complete nutso beyotch.
|I *totally* believe this.|
The new girl went to the back of the line. And honestly the moment happened so fast it was over before I'd even had a chance to stick up for her. Which I feel really guilty about--but I did look for her in class. She was on the other side of the room, but she seemed totally fine.
The crazy yelling chick, however . . . Not so much. She was a few spots behind me in class, and I could see her in the mirror. And she looked like a freaking idiot.
And, let's not forget, this is coming from a girl (me) who knows she looks unbelievably silly in zumba.
But this woman? I mean, she was bouncing all over the place and making stupid facial expressions and CLEARLY thinking she looked hot. Normally I wouldn't say anything. Normally I wouldn't even notice. But because I saw her be so rude to someone over something so small? I was on the lookout.
And that right there is why I pick my battles. Well, one reason anyway. I don't bitch if someone cuts in zumba line--because it's just zumba. You can pretty much make that metaphor for most things.
I don't snap over little stuff. Or, at least, I try my hardest not to. Because those little things? They're exactly that. LITTLE. Not life changing. Not life threatening. Why create conflict when it's not a big deal? Why let something small ruin your mood?
There's your "about Sara" bit for Tuesday! I like zumba and I pick my battles. :)
*What? You were expecting rocket science? Zumba = Dance is a MATHEMATICAL EQUATION.