Guess who kicked herself in the shin this morning in yoga class?
I’m not talking about bumping my shin, y’all. I mean kicked my own shin with the same force you’d use to kick a rapist in the testicles (after screaming “I DON’T KNOW YOU! THAT’S MY PURSE!” of course).
This I managed to do in front of six other people.
At 6:00 in the morning*.
So while everyone else was saluting the sun, Kelly was curled up in a little ball on her yoga mat, whispering a litany of profanities that would make a dock worker blush with shame.
How did this happen?
This is how:
Clearly, nipple rings are the secret to success here.
(Despite the use of the word “nipple” in the preceding sentence, I assure you this video is completely safe for work.)
I have come to accept that wherever I go and whatever I do, I WILL make an ass of myself at least once, and usually within the first hour. I went to class today knowing the inevitable awkward moment would happen, and when it did, despite the fact that I was in excruciating pain, I was relieved it was over so I could move on.
I think that’s what they call “inner peace.”
*Why on God’s green Earth was I doing yoga at 6:00 in the morning in the first place? Because that is literally the only free time I have when a) a yoga class is offered and b) someone can watch the babe. I asked my mom, who babysits her for me on Wednesday afternoons, to stay an hour later so I could take a class at 4:00 p.m., and she was cool with that, but my dad, who is normally extremely supportive of this sort of endeavor, was apoplectic when he realized he would have to eat dinner an hour later on Wednesdays. Fatherly encouragement only goes so far, it would seem, when pot roast is at stake.