When we moved to Hawaii, I knew the first thing people would ask would be: "So, can you hula?" Armed with such foresight, I jumped at the chance to take free Hula lessons at our town rec center. Knowing that dance is not my forte, I was willing to give it ten weeks of effort for the sake of broadening my horizons. Our elderly teacher mentioned at the first class that she'd had a hip replaced and the other needed some work, so we'd have to imagine her hips moving and do our best to swing it on our own. She required us to wear flowers in our hair, cause they "make you dance better." And we had to danceAND sing. At the same time. In Hawaiian. I played along, it was all just for fun. Then she announced we were going to have a performance at the local golf club. Sudden panic struck. This was no longer "for fun." My classmates dragged me to the Swap Meet to buy a respectable Mu'umu'u. None of the patterns called to me, but I was told that we didn't have time to fuss, so just pick a mu'umu'u. I ended up with pink. Never been very fond of pink. We survived the performance, and I have to admit that the elderly woman with no operable hips is still better at hula than I am. And incidentally, no one has asked me if I can hula yet. But when they do...I'll say NO!
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