HER
The girl in my fourth grade who told everyone she was part snake and kept crawling around the lawn on her belly at recess is engaged and I have just been ghosted two times. So much to think about. How do you even meet anyone anymore these days? And why am I thinking about it now, when I am supposed to “be in the moment” and “let go off my mind and body”?
Let me set the scene for you: I am half-way through a vinyasa yoga class in a studio I have never been to before, listening to the stifled and wooden instruction of a substitute teacher who seems a little nervous. My mind is wandering.
Don’t think I haven’t seen you there, though. Yeah, you, Mr Big Guns by the bay window, with this intense focus and gaze. One ticket to the gun show, por favor! Oh gosh, I don’t even talk like that in real life, so why am I doing it in my internal monologues? See, that’s why I’m still single right there. Or should I say: single AGAIN.
How is it that one day you feel like you rule the world and next thing you know you go around the house turning off the lights, muttering “The whole goddamn house looks like a Slavic nativity play!”. One day your goal is to run two marathons in a year, and the next day your goal is to put away the laundry the same day that you wash it.
Guess I shouldn’t have banged a guy who uses air quotes when he speaks and wears sandals. Let me tell you a secret. I shouldn’t have, and I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for an olive bowl. Yeah, I was on my usual Friday bender in Cocktail Heaven with the girls, in a dress probably shorter than my remorse the day after. I always believed that when your heart and brain are not talking to each other, it’s the liver who forces them to make up. Anyway, the guy, let’s call him Josh (even if the real name is nowhere near as cool), has spilled most of the juice from the $8 Kalamata olive bowl all over my top when accepting it from the barman and turning around.
You know the story: awkward apologies, offers to pay for the cleaners, two drunk people who did not to want to come back home alone, trying really hard to maintain the conversation and overlook the fact they are so obviously not a good match for each other.
What can I say: I was drunk, I was high, I was horny, then I was pregnant. Yep, they should tell you at school that one-night stands can get the bun in the oven too. Sophie is the best thing that happened to me out of this, though. Yes, I live for his smile, for her little tiptoes, her tantrums, I didn’t even mind the diapers right from the start.
When shit – literally – got too real for “Josh” and he bailed, it was almost a relief. I kind of prefer to go solo with this right now. Or should I say – with anyone else but him… So worth it. You know, they say your soul mate is somewhere out there. What they don’t tell you is that yes, he’s out there, but among other seven billion people, distributed over seven continents, if he’s even alive. Or single.
But I think about this stuff enough every day – this is my time now. This one hour every Monday and Friday on the mat is when I am one with my breath, my body, with everyone else in the room, and when my world is limited to these four squares of my mat. Just me, myself and vinyasas. And I still don’t look half-bad in these tights!
Let’s be honest though. I wish I could say my yoga also happens beyond the mat, but with Sophie, work and other stuff, I barely have time to do ten minutes of meditation a day a few times per week, let alone bust out 108 Sun Salutations in the middle of the day. Still, after I finally found a reliable babysitter, I can safely say yoga has saved my life. Right from the get go, I really enjoyed the non-competitiveness, the just-do-your-best attitude. It’s fine if you do, it’s OK if you don’t. Sure, at the beginning I had my complexes seeing people around me contorting into different shapes with poise and grace, without even having to look at the teacher. During my first class, when she said “if you feel overwhelmed, just go into Child’s pose,” I immediately did just that and wanted to stay curled up there for the rest of the practice, anxiously waiting to at least nail the pronunciation of the final namaste. That feeling quickly went away and I got to understand the meaning of “yoga glow” and “yoga bum” first hand. Three classes in, I was an addict.
Hey, talking about my yoga bum – shhhhhh – looks like someone here shares my view. I got this weird feeling of being watched and slowly but surely realised… it was him. No two ways about it – Mr. Big Guns was checking me out! O.M.G. What do I do? Is my downward dog looking sharp? Is my bum popping in these tights? And should it? Hold on girl, you got this. Pretend like you don’t care and you’ll be all right. Maybe he just likes your durable, non-toxic, eco-friendly, PVC-free, strong-grip, über-cool cork yoga mat with alignment system? I admit: I might have tried overcompensating for my poor yoga game at the beginning with buying fancy clothing and gear, but then I actually fell in love with the quality of this stuff, once I learnt how to properly make use of it.
Well, anyway, I should probably let the gentleman know that I have felt his gaze sliding all over me and I didn’t find it all that horrible. Nah-huh! Must be one of his first classes though or he is struggling to catch up – the dude has been stuck in Sphinx for the last two minutes, and we’re already one vinyasa ahead, moving from Downward Dog to lie down on our stomachs. Let’s greet him with an understated, but inviting smile. Our eyes crossed and I began aiming for the most subtle and welcoming little smirk, just with the corners of my lips.
Then the world came to a halt.
How do I even put this into words? Let’s simply state the facts: someone has just broken wind really loudly. And really close to me. Apparently, it is not that uncommon during yoga classes, so I was not surprised to only hear a few chuckles here and there, although my face did involuntarily contort into a grimace when I heard the flatulence.
Wait a minute, what’s going on here? I somehow feel like I’m turning into the centre of attention here. I honestly don’t believe it – the guy whom I was just trying to send a cheeky smile to is now looking around other people and giving ME a compassionate smile! Dude, really? He honestly thinks it was me!
I never had any control over my blushing and it has always happened in the weirdest situations, so I was not surprised at all when I felt hot and red all over my face. But why is the teacher (by the way, the smell has just hit me, and things have gotten dramatically worse – think Indian food mixed with formic acid or something) not doing anything?! He should be taking control right now and making a joke about it, but the man is just standing there, looking more embarrassed than anyone else in the room.
Right from the moment he opened the class, he looked like the guy who would regularly say “one downward dog a day keeps the doctor away” or something equally cringe-worthy so where is the one-liner now? Dude, we need you to save the day here! Pretty please? I just can’t stand taking the fall for this one. OK, let’s regroup. The longer I stay in the room, the more I blush and the guiltier I look. I guess it’s a bit like going camping with your friends and coming across a bear. You don’t need to outrun the bear to survive, you just need to run faster than at least one of your friends. Yep, I’m getting the hell out of here! Man, if you really think I am the smelly one here, you better think twice!
I got up from my mat and blew the fit guy an air kiss, hoping to share at least some of the toxic air floating around me. Now comes the cherry on top. He caught the kiss mid-air, lifted himself up as if to throw it out the window and – get ready for this – the guy had a boner!
Never had I been so torn apart between disgust and self-satisfaction. Let’s just pause here for a sec – he must have checked me out and got horny before the smelly earthquake. Or did he see my smile turn into grimace, thought I squeezed the fart out with relief and… that got him hard? I’ll stick with the first possibility for the sake of my mental health. Yep, I’m more of a “let’s get a drink first, what do you do for living” kind of girl. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer to wait with sharing bodily functions for at least date number three.
Anyway, karma is never far around the corner, so all things considered, I decided my work here was done and stormed out of the room, leaving Mr Muscle to deal with all the exasperated gasps and the commotion his little ‘problem’ has created in the room.
I sure can tell you one thing: I am not coming back to this studio or this teacher ever again, namaste. [END OF PART 2/3]