Yoga

So last night I went to my first yoga class at my new gym. I was immediately sceptical as the teacher, no offence to her, had the biggest ass I have ever seen. (Similarly my dietitian looks like a fat buddha, WTF, it's like having a dentist with rotten teeth).

Back to yoga instructor, surely she should look like an emaciated stick insect and make all the bulimics in the room do a little mock charge in excitement?

I also always look at the people in the class: Indians (obvious), the normal slightly overweight white ladies like me, the skeletal bored housewife who is probably banging her trainer and then of course there always has to be the one straight man. He enters the room, chest puffed up in pride and you just know he is saying in his head: 'I am MAN enough to be in this class. I know who I am, I am straight but I am metro.I do yoga because I believe in the flexibility it gives me.' You can just imagine him beating his chest like a silverback gorilla. He is of course also wearing tiny shorts where you can see his tiny budgie wrestling to escape the barriers of lycra. My best thing about all men in yoga classes is that they almost have to prove to everyone else that they know how to breathe properly, so now one has to get used to these deep inhales and exhales because you must know, you MUST know he is a big man in the lung department and he wants everyone to know it. Quite frankly, I much prefer pouffs in yoga, at least they shave their legs and know how to breathe quietly.