I've been on a mission.
My youngest daughter, Claire is an 18-month ball of craziness.
In an effort to stay sane, I've been taking my brood to the gym every morning to swim, take a class, and in general, to get our ya ya's out. And I do this, while conditioning Claire to spend at least one hour in the nursery so that we can live in peace.
After a hard early morning run, I thought that taking a relaxing yoga class was exactly what I needed.
Purple yoga mat in hand, I quickly made my way into the studio and prayed that I wouldn't get paged to pick up a screaming toddler.
No teacher in sight, I joined the other 60+ year old women and placed my mat in the circle of trust.
And then he walked in. Sweet Mary Mother of God. Are you kidding me right now...how is anybody supposed to focus, the hottie yoga teacher is on the scene?
Is he gay? Is he metro? WTF?
Mind reeling, I thought, screw it. I don't care what I look like, I'm getting my Downward Dog on and taking this one hour for myself.
And then it happened. Instructed to lay flat on our backs and to lift our asses high in the air while we swing our legs over our heads and push our feet to the back wall....I landed in what I thought was a perfect "Plow" pose.
Feeling a little queesy and wondering if the cream in my coffee was making my innards turn to mush, I heard foot steps. Shit, he's correcting us...ass and all. And that's when he pressed on my lower back and I
farted in his face.
And it was no delicate "paaahhhh." No, it was a gutteral, truck driver, try to clench your ass only to make it worse FAARRRTTT.
And then, I was fucked. With 25 minutes still left to go in the class, I never resumed eye contact. My circle of trust was broken with the other ladies. I was the stinky black sheep.
The only redeeming detail I learned is that he was a sub for the regular instructor.
Sure as shit, I'll never be returning to that class. The good news is that Claire did fine in the nursery. So, at least I've got that going for me.