When
I was a little girl, I wanted nothing more than to grow up to be a hula
dancer. The grass skirts, the flowered necklaces, the hypnotically
gyrating stomachs... what kid could resist? My mom even enrolled me in
dance classes so that I could learn the moves. I soon discovered two
main problems with my hula dreams: 1) I have a shocking and
embarrassing lack of rhythm (think Elaine Benes dancing, then go
lower), and 2) my frighteningly pale complexion makes a grass skirt and
bikini top look a little morbid.
So hooray for the hula chair, which facilitates flawless hula-ing... and you don't even have to leave your seat:
Read More...
