Yesterday was a pretty good day. I wish I could remember what the fuck it was that I did. Oh yeah. I went to Yoga class with my girlfriend Nikki. I told her before we went, “I hope I don’t get a boner.”
She said, “If you do, you can go into child’s pose.”
I said, “I can just see it now. ‘Sir why are you in child’s pose? It’s only been 2 minutes of class?’ That’s because I’ve got wood. Besides, child’s pose with a boner sounds kind of rapey.”
We arrived early and watched as the class before ours let out. I was looking at all the people coming out and I was totally bummed because there wasn’t a single hot chick in the class. I thought yoga was for hot chicks and the cast of the Golden Girls.
Nikki told me that the room they do the yoga in was a heated room that the studio pumped humidity into. Some of the people who exited were Patrick Swayze, Dirty Dancing sweaty. Others were as dry as dirt on the infield. I was sort of disappointed. I wanted to get soaked.
Finally 7:15 rolls around and we go into the studio and I have to sign up and pay because I’ve never been there before. The lady who took my money was nice and told me she was teaching the class for the day. I said, “Oh.”
I was looking around at the merch and I seen a purse or a bag or a bag that was in the form of a purse that looked pretty artsy. I told Nikki that she should buy one. I looked at the price tag, $75. “Whoa. I’d rather buy you a diamond.” The yoga instructor informed me that they were hand made by some lady that wasn’t there and couldn’t really verify the claim that she was making. She agreed they were over priced but when you think about how much a woman will spend on a Coach purse it really wasn’t that bad. At least it was local.
I paid my $10 for 10 days of classes. I would only use one because my daughter was at her grandparents for the week and there was no way in hell that I was actually going to pay for a baby sitter to come to this shit.
We kicked off our shoes and put Nikki’s purse in the cubbyholes that they provided the patrons that Nikki declared, “I don’t want to put your credit card in my purse, small things go missing,” and entered into the yoga room with a diminished sense of security and faith for yogis being decent people. The room was big enough to have a Broadway show in but too hot for anyone wearing more than a leotard. The first thing I noticed, other than the heat, was the Sugar Daddy dipped floor. The hardwood was saturated in whatever came off the last class mixed with a brand of Mom’s homemade chemical they used to disinfect it.
We laid out our mats and the sweat began to roll as I asked Nikki to grab me a yoga block from the pile they had available. She gave me the wettest yoga block they had to offer. It felt like David Hasselhoff’s back on the set of Baywatch, smooth and slippery. Nikki insisted that it was probably the cleaner someone sprayed on it from the class before. I said, “I’m not going to risk it, grab me another.” The second was damp but not unbearable.
We were the 4th or 5th set of people to come into class and took the 4th row back from the front. A lady in the 5th row decided that it was time to “clear the air” and farted. I laughed. Hard. I don’t know if she was embarrassed or not. I don’t think she was. Women over 40 who fart without disregard don’t give a fuck. I couldn’t smell it. So I didn’t care either, other than it was a woman just ripping farts in the back of class.
A huge man entered the room with his woman and proceeded to the front. I’m not sure who he was but this thumper looked familiar like a retired MMA fighter trying to keep the peace at home by going to yoga with his old lady. It was surprising that he even came, after 5 minutes of poses he left the class like a pussy and never returned. I would have kicked his ass anyways.
It was a beginner’s class and I will tell you this, I have NEVER in my life sweat like I had. This was the first time in my life that sweat would stream off of me into; someone dropped a cup of water on the floor, puddles. I had so much sweat that it even dripped off of my big toe for the first time in my life.
The class wasn’t too hard. I worked out my arms, shoulders and abs earlier that day. I know you aren’t supposed to compare yourself to others in the class but if it were a competition I kicked all of these prissy yoga bitches’ asses. I destroyed. I held the poses better and I also worked out before I came so stick it where the sun doesn’t shine ladies.
There was a lady that went around during the class and helped with pose corrections and gave tiny massages. She only had to correct one of my poses and I’m pretty sure she wanted the cock-a-doodle-do. I never wiped the sweat off me because I didn’t want her to touch me. It’s not that it was uncomfortable having her touch me but as sweaty as I was I knew that she was touching other sweaty humans and then touching me. I don’t like staph infections and that seems to be a first class ticket there.
The last pose we did, you are laying down flat on your back just laying there and relaxing. I had almost finished the class without ripping a fart myself. This pose was just supposed to be the most relaxing thing you do all class and reflect on that moment and the only thing I could focus on was putting the air that was about to blow, back up my asshole. I had to clench the entire relaxing period.
The class ended and I needed a mop. It was pretty fun. Nikki was too excited for me. “WASN’T IT AWESOME? WASN’T IT THE BEST THING YOU’VE EVER DONE?”
“No. Calm down. It’s not like it was a life changing experience. I was fun and it was a workout. Relax. I’d do it again but I’m about as spiritual as a cup of coffee.”
Was I glad I did it? Hell yeah. I like doing over priced rich people stuff. It makes me feel better for about 15 minutes. I wouldn’t change anything in my experience. I would also like to note that no boners were had on this day. That’s lie. There were. Just not at that class.