Namasté

(v) (def: Go $&#% yourself while being asked to perform nonsexual acts of insanity)

This morning was spent on my brand spankin’ new, smelling of plastic manufacturing yoga mat!

That was the best part.

In short order I began to think that slicing that damn mat up into cutting board pads for the kitchen was a waaaaay better idea than what I was currently into.

The trim and beautiful woman on screen (foul deceiver) was telling me in a calm voice to keep my core tight at all times while doing my leg lifts, belly crunches, arm wrenches, suplexes, people’s elbows, jumping off the top rope of the ring onto my opponent…

Wait…

I drifted off for a second.

That calm and devious voice began telling me to gently pull my leg up behind my back like some fat ballerino, (yeah, made that up) over my shoulder and to keep breathing calmly. The careless whisper emanating from my gritted teeth was a soothing

“hhhhnnnnnnngggghhhh”

If you’ve never seen your toenails just to the right of your head you should give it a try. They’re quite lovely. I was tempted to offer a little affectionate smooch to my big toe but the calminatrix on screen was giving me a filthy and horrified look. (How in the living yoga hell can she see me?!?!)

Next came the “do your best to bite the inside of your thigh” pose. I can’t remember the name. I think we went from Horse Rolling In Poop pose into Fleeing From Rabid Wolves pose straight into Spontaneous Bowel Voiding On The Brand New Yoga Mat pose.

I began to think that maybe yoga just wasn’t for me when my gracious on screen host faced the screen and said “You did great! (What?) Doesn’t that feel good? (I feel like a rented mule!) Have a wonderful day and we’ll see you next time!

(Namasté…)