Walk The Line

A friend of ours is I think it's safe to say, obsessed with Line Dancing . She has arranged to hold an introductory course in this skilled art form at our village hall.
For some reason the men of the village were suddenly all busy/ going cycling/ washing their hair, whatever. Anything to wriggle out of making complete fools of themselves in public.
My protestations that I was rubbish at anything requiring physical skill, totally uncoordinated, hadn't got the right shoes and always go to the gym that day, fell on deaf ears and I had my arm twisted to join in.
It was a bit of a worry, I wasn't sure if you need a big hat, but I'm told they're trying to get away from that image. Would I need a sports bra or wouldn't we reach that level of exertion on the first day?
Well I don't like to say I told you so but I was, as predicted, totally rubbish, uncoordinated and although I know my left from my right, seem to have singularly failed to grasp the difference between my heels and my toes. Which is quite important, apparently.
G, who is good at everything did really well. M was pretty good too, other G is practically a professional. It's not for me though sorry girls.
N B. Faces obscured to protect the innocent.