I was late to yoga, and when I walked in, carrying too many things, everyone was already on their mats.
Yoga is still really new for me. It still feels awkward and difficult, and I’m still at the point where I feel really proud of myself for going. Look at you, being all healthy! I think, of myself, as I enter the building. I nod a modest “you’re welcome” to my dysfunctional spine. I am here for you, I think. Because I love you.
So even after arriving late, I was feeling pretty good about everything.
Ten minutes in, though, I noticed, while in some twisted, intimate pose, that there were holes in my pants. Exactly where you don’t want holes. Especially when you’re doing yoga, and the person behind you will see parts of your body that not even your kinkiest boyfriend wanted you to display like that. Oh no. This is bad.
The pants were black. My underwear was white. My only white pair, I think.
I craned my neck. There were three holes … no, five. In a row along the inner seam. Perfect. There’s my vagina. Keep reading »