Oh for crap's sake- get your minds out of the gutter.

Today was my first class in (get this!) hula dancing. It was a total hoot. I actually didn't suck that horribly, which was astounding given that I was gently encouraged to quit ballet at 5 years old because, well, there wasn't much hope. But it was okay- I got piano lessons instead. Now, I get a coconut bra. Kiwis, to be horribly honest.

The best part is how you move your body in Polynesian dance is strong and silky at the same time. It's actually a lot like Irish dance: the bottom half moves and the top half remains stationary. We all used a lava-lava, which is the same thing as a sarong. It sits low on your hips to give you a better sense of where they are as you move.

The dances tell a story, and this evening we learned the first two verses of a four verse dance. My moves are probably the Polynesian equivalent of the middle finger, but hey, it's all in good fun. The teacher is of Maori descent (though not a New Zealander herself), so we're going to be doing a tour of the South Pacific as we go. We started in Hawaii with a traditional hula meet 'n' greet dance.

Tahiti, here we come!