Sisterchicks Say Ooh La La! by Robin Jones Gunn Read Free Book Online

was fun. The music was lively. No one took the coordination of her moves too seriously. All that seemed to matter was that each of us moved something, somehow, and kept it moving until the end of the session.
    Amy loved the class. Afterward, the glowing women stood in clumps, making plans for where they would go for tacos and diet colas.
    The funniest woman in the class was Shirleene. She called all of us “girl.” I became Lisa-girl and Amy wasAmy-girl. Shirleene had ample parts of her personage to jiggle, and yet she was by far the one who worked the hardest without ever moaning or showing a frown. Shirleene kept the rest of the group smilin’ and groovin’—especially Amy.
    On our second visit, Shirleene was standing behind us. Halfway through the second song she burst out, “Come on, Amy-girl, shake what yo’ mama gave you!”
    Amy ramped up her swish and wiggled like I’d never seen before. Not even when we used to dance in her bedroom with the door closed on Saturday morning and we listened to the countdown of the top ten on her transistor radio.
    Every class from then on included Shirleene’s prodding to “shake it,” and every time, Amy did not disappoint.
    I soon noticed that Shirleene never encouraged me to shake what my mama gave me. I think I knew why. My endowment for the art of shake, rattle, and roll was lacking. I was the underachiever in the class, noticeably deficient in the area of Motown moves.
    One night, when Joel was gone, I found a radio station that played music like the tunes we danced to in our aerobics class. I cleared some space, pulled down all the shades, and took my position in front of the full-length bedroom mirror. Then I began my homework, hoping the extra credit might make up for some of my deficiencies in class.
    What I witnessed in that mirror will long be etched in my psyche. Unfortunately. I felt pity for the other women in my class. I also felt thankful that we didn’t exercise in front of any mirrors at the Lighten Up! studio. My skinny, white-girl body tried its best to shimmy up some R-E-S-P-E-C-T, but it just wasn’t going to happen. Amy-girl could shake it with Aretha’s songs as Shirleene’s rolling laughter egged her on. I would forever be the aerobics class nerd.
    But I kept at it each week in a show of support for Amy.
    By the end of the third week, I weighed in seven pounds less than my starting weight. After a month I was eleven pounds lighter. Poor Amy had only lost two pounds. I knew I had to either fake some sort of injury that would keep me out of class for a few months or bulk up on chocolate malts.
    I, of course, went with the chocolate malts. It worked great until Amy caught me. We were leaving the studio after class the first week of September. Usually we drove separately, but this time I was driving us both. I’d lost another pound that week, despite the chocolate malt. Amy hadn’t lost even an ounce that week.
    “I don’t know why I bother.” She sighed.
    “Don’t get discouraged. You know you’ve lost inches even if the pounds aren’t showing up on the scale yet. You said your jeans feel looser. That should be encouraging.”
    “I know.”
    “And you’re feeling healthier. The goal is to be healthy first, and then the weight comes off naturally. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me?”
    “That’s what I’ve been preaching. You know what? I should have taken off my jewelry before I got on the scale. This watch is at least four ounces. Maybe five. And what about these earrings?”
    “Amy.”
    “No, I’m serious.”
    “In that case, did you shave your legs today?”
    “No. I didn’t!” Her face lit up with hope. “What a great idea! Next weigh-in I’ll make sure I shave nice and close. I’ll exhale before I step on the scale. And I won’t wear an underwire bra that day. Hey, I could get my hair cut, too!”
    “I was only kidding about shaving your legs. Don’t get your hair cut. Your hair is perfect the way it is.