Accidental Yogist
There's a New Agey center right near where I live. For months, I've had a flyer from the center that advertised a Monday night meditation class. Right up my alley, but I never got around to dropping in.
So last night, I went. At the appointed hour, I made my way into the studio. Its soothing fountain, soft lighting, and decorative tapestries were just right. The instructor greeted me, and asked if I'd come for the 7 o'clock class. I said yes, then she asked, Have you done yoga before? I answered that I had, but I was here for the meditation class. Which apparently ended this past sumnmer.
She encouraged me to stay anyhow, and even though I was wearing my tighest jeans, and my sweatshirt was awfully heavy for the warm room, I grabbed a mat and stayed. The group was small at first, so all of us were in a line in front of the teacher, but then others arrived and filled in rows behind us.
As the session got going, I was applauding myself for my flexibility in spite of my outfit, and once the twisting poses gave me the chance to see the other students, I was congratulating myself for having the nicest, straightest posture of the class. The universe responded to my vanity by flinging one of my bra inserts, a sizeable hunk of pink/tan silicone with a realistic nipple, out of my clothing and onto my mat. In the front row.
It was all I could do not to bust out laughing, so to speak. But the mood was so reverent, I really couldn't. So I did what any self-respecting woman with a fake boob at her feet would do. I snatched up my enhancement and tried to stuff it in my pocket. It didn't fit. So I stood there, holding it. Finally out of ideas for stashing it, I stuffed it back where it was supposed to go.
I'm glad I hung in there, because at the end of class, we were lying down on our mats in relaxation pose, which felt soooo good after the surprisingly intensive stretching and toning. The teacher came around the room three times, first to place aromatic beanbags over our eyes, then to cover us with light blankets, even tucking in our feet, then to rub lavender oil into our temples. Now that's a class I can get in to.
After class, the students chatted a little and said good night. No one said boo about a boob on the floor.
So last night, I went. At the appointed hour, I made my way into the studio. Its soothing fountain, soft lighting, and decorative tapestries were just right. The instructor greeted me, and asked if I'd come for the 7 o'clock class. I said yes, then she asked, Have you done yoga before? I answered that I had, but I was here for the meditation class. Which apparently ended this past sumnmer.
She encouraged me to stay anyhow, and even though I was wearing my tighest jeans, and my sweatshirt was awfully heavy for the warm room, I grabbed a mat and stayed. The group was small at first, so all of us were in a line in front of the teacher, but then others arrived and filled in rows behind us.
As the session got going, I was applauding myself for my flexibility in spite of my outfit, and once the twisting poses gave me the chance to see the other students, I was congratulating myself for having the nicest, straightest posture of the class. The universe responded to my vanity by flinging one of my bra inserts, a sizeable hunk of pink/tan silicone with a realistic nipple, out of my clothing and onto my mat. In the front row.
It was all I could do not to bust out laughing, so to speak. But the mood was so reverent, I really couldn't. So I did what any self-respecting woman with a fake boob at her feet would do. I snatched up my enhancement and tried to stuff it in my pocket. It didn't fit. So I stood there, holding it. Finally out of ideas for stashing it, I stuffed it back where it was supposed to go.
I'm glad I hung in there, because at the end of class, we were lying down on our mats in relaxation pose, which felt soooo good after the surprisingly intensive stretching and toning. The teacher came around the room three times, first to place aromatic beanbags over our eyes, then to cover us with light blankets, even tucking in our feet, then to rub lavender oil into our temples. Now that's a class I can get in to.
After class, the students chatted a little and said good night. No one said boo about a boob on the floor.