I used to love Sundays. Last year Sunday meant buying a roast chicken and devouring it in front of the television and then maybe taking a nap, having coffee with friends, taking a lovely Sunday stroll through the city, making chicken stock and then going to sleep.
My luxurious Sundays are no more. Now on Sunday I’m up at the crack of 11am…donning my work-out gear, plastering on a smile and shaking my bootay –to-the-beat in front of a bunch of sweating Parisians…or to sum up in one word…ZUMBAAAA! And to answer the question…yes becoming a Zumba instructor has kinda, sorta ruined Zumba for me. Great for my waist-line (yes I finally have one!) and a nice little extra-income...but sadly I don’t think I will be taking a Zumba class ever again. Heaven forbid…I would be analyzing the choreography, wondering where the music came from and watching to see how my fellow booty-shakers were enjoying the class…
As if teaching two classes in a row weren’t bad enough (yes I have dropped two dress sizes) it means that I am missing the one essentially lazy day…so whilst Jean-David is going buying produce at Marché Aligre and having coffee with our friends, I’m sweating out anything imbibed the previous night and dreaming of giant plates of pasta.
It’s not all bad. Thursday has become my new Sunday. Yesterday after watching 3 episodes of Mad Men, making banana bread and doing a load of laundry I felt relaxed and happy…did I mention I slept until 11am?
That is bliss. Butter. Banana bread, Bach and folding socks watching the unraveling of Don Draper.
Ah.
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