Orienteering - the other way

This is yours truly the Reluctant Housewife and her beautiful friend Salima, on the eve of our belly-dancing debut. I wouldn't have said that black velvet is exactly the right material to wear in 30° heat, but it was that or purple chiffon. Anyway, the hour had finally come to display our skills in semi-public. Women of all ages, shapes and sizes, attired in every colour of the rainbow, were gathered in an stuffy upstairs dance studio to commune with each other and celebrate the art of belly-dancing. I sound like I ate the brochure for tea, don't I, but 'twas really so. My plan only to dance our rehearsed piece fell flat right at the beginning, when we were rallied together and told to join hands. In an enormous circle we swayed this way and the other, then into the middle and out again. I felt like I was doing a kind of oriental hokey-cokey. Being passionately against audience participation I was heartily relieved when the music stopped - I had to fight for a chair - and some of the 'good' ones took to the floor. Eventually our time came, and I managed not to (a) laugh (b) trip over and (c) turn the wrong way. All in all, not too bad. It only went a bit pear-shaped when we had to dance with a veil.  It looked so simple when the pros did it.  You had to sort of swish the veil around your head really quickly and back in front of you, remembering all the time to look mysterious and sensual.  I, of course, managed to wrap the veil over my face - luckily it was transparent - couldn't get the damn thing off in time. So I must have looked pretty mysterious. Not sure about the sensual, though. Gaia advised me not to post the above pictures on Facebook - "too revealing", she said, and "you never know who's looking". Funny - exactly my words to her about her black ribbed belt, sorry, I mean mini-skirt. Anyway, the whole evening was an inspiration, and ever since I have been clandestinely practising my new moves. As most people already think me somewhat strange, they won't bat an eyelid at work when I shimmy my way to the photocopier or squeeze in a few hip figure-of-eights while waiting signing for a delivery.