Because of the dreadful weather, when I showed up to teach my step-and-sculpt class, there was no one there. Delighted that I might have the hour free, I decided nevertheless to wait fifteen minutes before going home. I was about to turn the lights off and leave when a woman came in to do the class. She had a foreign accent and turned out to be from Paris. She was very considerate; she said there was no point in doing the class with one student, as it would be just as easy for her to go and lift on the machines outside. But, full of bitterness, I told her that if she'd come for the class we should do the class.
And it was a total blast. First, because it was great to be able to focus my teaching on one person's specific needs, and second, because I did the class in French.
Actually, that's not completely accurate, as my French wasn't quite up to translating sentences like "give me some hip!" and "I know you've got more attitude in you than that!" idiomatically on the fly as I danced around a plastic platform.
But when it came to shouting "rétez trois fois!" and "magnifique, vraiment magnifique!" I was smoother than Maurice Chevalier.
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