“And bend. Bend. Bend.” The instructor cooed in her squeaky Thai accent.
Folding her body into a thousand little pieces and then tying it all off with a bow.
It was right about then when I realized that perhaps Thailand wasn’t precisely the best of all possible places to begin taking Yoga classes.
It turns out that Asians are incredibly flexible.
And I, putting this in the kindest off terms. Am not.
I’m more of the can’t touch your toes, always miss that spot on your back when suddsing up in the shower type of person.
So feeling peculiarly blonde and eccentrically rigid, I stiffly moved my appendages around the yoga mat, trying to muffle the thumps I made when falling over so as not to distract those who seemed to be particularly enjoying the Zen.
The instructor appeared to be rather fond of saying, “Tighten your buttocks” every couple of minutes.
For some ridiculously juvenal reason this struck me as funny.
This strong little tank of a Thai woman barking at me to tighten my buttocks.
I couldn’t help laughing. And laughing. And laughing.
Undoubtedly slaughtering whatever relaxing atmosphere and calming vibes there may have been in the room.
Maturity. Who knows when it’ll hit. I seem to have avoided it quite spectacularly for these past couple of years so I’ve gotta enjoy every moment until the blow strikes.
Until then, I’ll just keep attending yoga class.
And snorting when I laugh.