After posting this today, I decided it might require some explanation.
Traveling for business and then dueling with Stomach Flu 2013 left me without my yoga class for over a week. In my world, this essentially means starting over from square one with my muscles. And when I arrived for class, it actually meant starting over at a new studio.
I walked in the front door and was surprised to see the space next to my yoga studio under construction and a giant chalkboard that read, “Pardon our dust during our TRANSFORMATION!” I dropped off my stuff in the teeny tiny cubby near the door, and as I approached the front desk to check in, the man standing behind the counter was new. The sign behind his head had the name of a yoga studio I didn’t recognize.
“Hi!” he said.
“Hi, there. Where are we right now?”
“Oh! We’re expanding! And we’ve renamed the practice. And I’m a new teacher!”
“Alrighty. Well. Can I still take yoga here?”
“HA! You sure can!”
I was laughing inside, I’m sure.
I’m not a fan of change at my yoga studio unless it’s to change the order of poses, and even then I’d prefer just do the same damn thing every time so I never look like an idiot.
The new guy was big. Big shoulders, big arms, big neck, big head. He seemed nothing but lovely. Just new. As I walked into the side of the yoga studio I was used to, I sighed to myself realizing the shelves were in a different place and the water cooler was no longer there on the ONE DAY I forgot my water bottle. I stood, noticing that even my spot in the corner of the room was taken by some woman I’d never seen before. I would have to sit in the middle, near people who I might touch. I don’t care for touching people during yoga.
I laid out my Earth-green mat and got a yoga block from the stack (no longer stacked in the front of the room, but now in the back) and retrieved the delicious tea-tree oil spray available for all yogis to use on their mats prior to practicing. I sprayed down my mat and wiped it with my neatly folded purple yoga towel. I’d washed my yoga towel over the weekend along with everything else in my house that could possibly harbor Stomach Flu 2013 germs. I was starting to feel centered. At least my stuff was clean and this part of my routine was the same.
I sat down in the middle of my mat and grabbed my yoga towel to spread it out. Unfolding it with purpose, I made it to the third fold when I saw them, stuck to the yoga towel, in the middle of yoga class where people could see me.
Bright. Red. Lacey. Underwear.
Let’s back up. I own one pair of bright red lacey underwear. They were given to me by a dear friend at my bridal shower in California 6 years ago. She followed tradition and bought me something from my registry, an adorable kitchen apron from Crate and Barrel. But with it, and in the spirit of bridal showers, she included a bright and red and lacey pair of underwear with a note – “To be worn together.” I imagined myself, a hot housewife wearing nothing but that apron and those undies in the kitchen one day when my husband arrived home from a long day at the office.
Now. Did that ever happen? No. No that never happened because this is real life. And while I had many beautiful pairs of lacey underwear 6 years ago, gone are the days of giving a crap what I look like under my clothes. But this one, sexy little pair are my favorite, and they made it through the high rate of turnover my underwear drawer has seen since wedding body. And now, they were here with me. In yoga class.
I immediately felt flushed and hot. I quickly folded the towel back up. My normal self might announce this little blunder, put it out there and own it. But the room was quiet. People were meditating. Or sleeping. Whatever. I had to figure a way to get these back to my car, which was parked a quarter of a mile away. Hm. Not going to happen without drawing major attention to myself. I did not bring a purse or a bag; just flip flops and my keys which were back in the teeny tiny lobby cubby. The lobby. Where people are standing around and chatting. Near the cubbies.
I could hear the new instructor in the lobby saying, “Well, we’re about to get started!” so I had to act fast. I picked up my towel and carried it to the cubby, thinking I might just shove the whole thing in there. I re-thought that halfway to the cubby. This is hot yoga. The sweat pours and my yoga mat becomes a Slip’n’Slide if I don’t have my towel.
As I approached the cubby, I leaned down and pretended to look inside. At that moment, everyone in the lobby decided to stop and see what I was looking at inside of MY cubby where MY things were. I pretended to put my towel inside, hoping they would be satisfied that that’s all I was doing, but even after getting it most of the way in people were still looking. What’s so freaking interesting!? Look away, people! Namaste!
I finally made a clutch decision and grabbed the undies from inside of the towel while both my hands and the towel were mostly inside of the cubby and I shoved the undies under my flip flops. And if you didn’t know what I was doing, you would probably just think I was taking the drugs I hid in my yoga towel out and shoving them into my shoes. It was that inconspicuous.
Luckily, no one asked what I was doing and eventually stopped staring at me. I gently pulled my yoga towel back out of the teeny tiny cubby and walked with purpose back to my yoga mat in the studio past the, “Pardon our dust during our TRANSFORMATION!!” sign. I chuckled all the way to my mat.