Ceilidh-robics

If pole dancing can become an aerobics class, why not ceilidh?

Seriously, by 11 tonight, after three hours of dancing and a bagpipe summons to snack time, people were wet messes. All around the room were guys and girls in various stages of undressing (first the sweaters, then the shoes), and everyone was stripping down to the bare minimum. Faces were "glistening," to be polite, and hair matched. We were spinning around the room, clapping, and doing a rather suggestive version of the Virginia Reel - some of the girls in heels, no less - and no one thought it odd that a roomful of people was sweating all over their nice clothing. During the fifteen-minute walk back from Pollock, I didn't need my coat, and that's saying something in Edinburgh.

What if ceilidh dancing were an honest-to-God aerobics class? All you'd need would be a band, a caller, and a bunch of people more appropriately attired in shorts and tennis shoes.

Then again, it's fun when you twirl and the skirts go flying. And now my hair has curled itself into ringlets. I should probably shower...