We’ve been together almost two years now. And there’s something that I feel I need to tell you.
As you know, every Thursday night is our date night. I go to a church hall to bend, stretch and reach for the stars with a lovely group of people.
These people are very nice. The instructor is also very nice. And when we finish the class, we’re all very nice – thank you, that was a lovely class, I feel so good.
But the truth is, yoga: I’m faking it.
To me, you’re just a long sweaty game of Simon Says.
I bend. I balance. I ‘downward-facing tiger’. I ‘eagle folding its wings’. I monkey, buffalo, cat, spider, swan and lizard.
I breathe from my tummy. I breathe through my yang heart centre. I breathe out of my base chakra (ie my bum).
I ‘let go’ every part of my body. I allow my eyeballs to drop deeply into their sockets and I allow my tongue to float. I tell the soles of my feet and my hair follicles to release. I never draw up my pelvic floor when I’m menstruating because I know that is wrong.
I dress up for you and I have everything I need for our every encounter. I have a mat and a pillow and a foam bolster. I even got an eye mask and a belt to spice things up.
I know that you are supposed to be good for me. Happy people do you. I see you with celebrities all of the time. I know if I do you I’ll be healthy, successful and better looking.