6:00 p.m.: We were asked to go into “Child’s Pose” to begin the class by setting an intention for our practice. The teacher asked us to visualize something that’s currently missing in our lives…all I could think about was cheesecake.
6:10 p.m.: Oh my. I really should’ve considered getting a pedicure before coming here. I hope no one notices my 5-week-old nail polish. It’s a little chipped.
6:20 p.m: I have no idea what this teacher is talking about. Is this English? Spanish? What on Earth is a urdhva mukha svanasana? Why is she speaking in code?
6:30 p.m.: Lord, have mercy — it’s stinky in here! Could it be me? *Check armpit*. No, I’m in the clear. But someone needs to work on saving their soul because their funk smells like you know what.
6:45 p.m.: If I were a guy, this class would be heaven. Where did all these supermodel-look-alikes come from? I bet they live in Brickell.
7:00 p.m.: She wants us to do WHAT? This yoga teacher has clearly lost her mind. You would have to persuade me with Channing Tatum and 3 shots of tequila for me to even attempt a split like that. Whoa. And Wow. And Ugh, I wish I could do that.
7:10 p.m.: For heaven’s sake! How long is this class? This needs to end soon or someone’s gonna have to scoop me off the floor.
7:20 p.m.: Uh-oh. I don’t know how this happened, but here I am attempting a split, and I think I might have just pulled a hamstring. Someone, please call an ambulance. Please let the next pose be “Prayer Pose.”
7:25 p.m.: Hold it. Hold it. Whatever you do, don’t toot. I repeat: This is a No-Tooting Zone! Yikes, I just tooted.
7:30 p.m.: Oh , yay! It’s naptime. You mean I get to sleep at the end? I love yoga! No, really. I do. I’ll dream of my next class.
