Unfortunately, it’s this kind of behavior that also leads to medical problems like these:
So worth it!
I also recently found out that yoga is good for (wannabe) runners like me. I am actually planning on going to yoga today, but I am also planning on not making the same mistake that I made at class last week. Before I further explain my blunder, allow me to start with an infamous quote:
“If it smells like fish, take a dish. If it smells like cologne, leave it alone.”
We are, of course, talking about the Pink Taco. Pu-nah-ni. Hairy Clam. Coochie. The “fish” refers to what many romance novels describe as “feminine essence.” I’ll be the first to admit to having it, as I am sure 100% of all other self-conscious women have it as well.
One of the problems I discovered with “feminine essence” is that it doesn’t combine well with man gravy. The guys make a deposit, and the girls are left with a bit of an odor. Not exactly a fair deal, if you ask me. Luckily, a shower cures this quickly enough.
The night before my yoga error, C and I did the horizontal mambo right after I had already bathed. Everyone knows that a Relaxing Bath + Orgasm + Ambien leads to some damn fine sleep. So, sleep I did; however, Fish + Baby Batter + Sleep = Smelly Crotch.
I didn’t even notice a smell when I woke up the following morning. I was about to get in the shower; I was planning out my day. No big deal. I made W some breakfast, and, as I spoon-fed him oatmeal, I surfed the Internet. This was when I noticed the 10:30 yoga class at the Y. Remembering that (poser) runners like me should be doing this exercise frequently, I decided to pack up and head out. (An aside – who takes a shower BEFORE going to the gym? Not me.)
I got changed into my workout clothes at the gym. Looking in my bag, I noticed that I forgot to take my (sweaty) clothes from yesterday out and replace them with fresh ones. Oh, well. I was already there, and I was going to get sweaty anyways. I put on yesterday’s clothes, which consisted of a sports bra, white T-shirt, and short-shorts. You know the type of shorts I am talking about. The kind that your ass barely keeps from hanging out of? Yeah, those kind.
Anyways, I get dressed and noticed I had a few minutes before class. Not enough time to do anything productive, but enough time for an ADD person like me to get bored easily. To fill the gap, I decided to sit in the steam room.
Hmmm… let’s get caught up on our equation here: Tuna + Nut – Shower + Yesterday's Sweaty Short-Shorts + Steam Room = could it get any worse than this? Oh, right. Let’s go to yoga.
Yoga consists of a variety of poses that stretch your body, lengthen your muscles, and de-stress your mind. The majority of yoga poses are simple, but challenging on the body. This day’s warm up was easy. I was feeling pumped and full of good energy. Until Downward Dog.
Now for those of you who are unfamiliar, Downward Dog looks something like this:
This is when it hit me. Only when I stuck my cho-cha out and up, in those damned short-shorts, did the smell reach my nostrils. I smelled like a dockside whore. Fuck.
I was convinced that the whole entire classroom - male and female - could smell the roast beef curtains. I remember thinking several things at once: "Should I leave?" "Can this guy behind me see my ass?" "Has everyone gotten a whiff of my junk?" Humiliating.
Luckily for me it was over as soon as it started. We quickly moved from Downward Dog into more smelly-crotch friendly poses, and I pushed my embarrassment to the back of my mind in attempt to find inner peace.
About fifteen minutes before class was scheduled to end, the instructor put us on our backs. Time for some moderate calf stretches and spinal twists. I was more concerned about someone seeing my ass then smelling my ass during these poses, but the instructor decided to spring one on me. Dead Bug.
You guys ever seen the yoga pose, Dead Bug? Let me share it with you:
Yes, seriously. Not wanting to appear athletically deficient, I thought I should at least give it a shot. Doing so, I swear I could see a green fog leaving my groin region. There was no way anyone could have missed it. The smell was beyond obvious. I decided my best course of action would be to play it off like a fart in an elevator. So I looked over at the guy next to me, mimicked his look of disgust, then shrugged my shoulders in a quizzical way as if to say, "Who on earth would come to yoga class smelling like Salmon + Jizz + Hooker Shorts? Jeez. The nerve."
On to the recap:
Poon + Skeet + Buryin' the Bone + Eight Hours - Shower + Yesterday's Sweaty Short-Shorts + Steam Room + Dead Bug = Me at Yoga on Thursday mornings.
Hope to see you there!
Fearing any possible future dilemnas I might have (and probably knowing she's gonna be with me one Thursday morning), my BFF, L, from FL, specially designed an ingenious new product just for me. She calls them Pine-Scented Short-Shorts, and they come with a three-pack of these that can easily clip-on to the crotch:
CURRENTLY LISTENING TO:
"And She Was" - Talking Heads
Still on New Moon... it's getting better!