So I sign up for Yoga, right? Thinking it will be a way for me to become all Zen-like and holy and one with God and nature and self and quite possibly Budda as well. You know, body-mind connection crap. So nerdy little Lindsay drives herself to Target (where else?!) and buys herself a yoga mat, dons herself up in inconspicuous yoga clothes (can’t be a typical yoga yuppie yet, you know) and heads off to the gym.
First thing I hear when I walk in the door: “We don’t wear shoes in here.” Um, okay. Do I get to be a part of this “we”? Are you exclusive already? Am I out of the group before I was even in it? I’m feeling a little bit like Bridget Jones when she shows up to the Tarts & Vicars party only to realize… the Tarts & Vicars party was cancelled and it’s now a posh luncheon… Except I’m not wearing a corset and stockings to everyone elses’ Sunday best, it’s more like tennies to barefoot. So, okay, I get over it and take my shoes off.
Next, I get dirty looks and am told “oh, put that yoga mat away, use our sticky mats here” and inside I curse myself for having ripped off the tag just seconds before entering, in fear that I look like a novice who just picked up her first yoga mat. Except, I AM a novice who just picked up her first yoga mat, it turns out, unnecessarily. I chalk the $15 up to a lesson learned in not ripping tags off of something until you’re actually USING it and move on.
So, we finally start the class. Tiny Hipster Buddhist Lady (THBL) goes into yoga poses and we follow. Although, lying on your back with you feet up the wall, it’s kinda hard to turn and see what she’s doing next. I digress. She says she’s moving on to another pose… but here comes the kicker: “Are any of you ladies menstruating right now?” Awhaaaa? Exsqueeze me? First of all, there are men-folk in the room… we ladies must never mention the M. as a first-person occurance with men in the room. Sure, I’ll be the first to talk about “It’s sucks for women cuz we have our periods and cramps and we push BABIES out of our hoo-ha’s and you dudes? What? You get kicked in the junk and it hurts? You want me to feel bad for you?” but always in the second or third person… you know “we women…” or “women in general” but NEVER, no never, the first person. Am I seriously expected to raise my hand profess to be riding the crimson wave?? (Shameless Clueless quote) Shaaaaa right.
Screw this mind-body crap. Let’s get to the humming and pointing the thumb to the finger and closing the eyes and can we not talk about our periods?
So yoga! LOVES IT! (Cue: Quick fake smile and a roll of the eyes)