Opinion: Busted a move – or maybe a hip?


My husband Doo and I have been married for more than 25 years, and 90 percent of the time still enjoy each other’s company. What’s our secret? Nothing in particular, really. Constant communication, occasional therapy and, most important, shared laughter. To that end, a recently discovered activity may prove to be the best tactic yet for a strong and healthy partnership: Adult hip-hop class!

I saw it advertised at our daughter’s dance studio and thought, why not? I like the music, I’d burn a few calories and I could finally earn some street cred with my kids. I texted Doo, and he immediately agreed. Bring. It. On.

So, we showed up to the first session not knowing entirely what we’d gotten ourselves into but game for anything. We soon realized that we were the oldest “students” by at least a decade and that Doo was the only guy. Lord help us. Then, one lady broke out Jell-O shots and all was well.

Unfortunately, the booze failed miserably. It’s no exaggeration to say that Doo and I are absolutely horrible. Horrible. We couldn’t remember the moves, let alone perform them properly, and I’m fairly confident I threw a hip. But for 45 minutes, we giggled like sugar-riddled children, doing our darndest to channel Usher and a hidden inner-TikTok talent. The highlight of the evening came when the instructor yelled, “Doo, I’m going to need more pop from you!” And man, did he deliver.

Will we impress at the next family event? Almost certainly not – our hip-hop is a travesty! But Doo and I will be together, enjoying each other and a good laugh.

Peace out.