Jane G and I mutually agreed that, as a way to assure our continued good deeds at the gym / yoga, should either of us stray, we have to 'fess up.
My name is Womb For Improvement. And tonight I didn't go to yoga. And next week I'm not going to either.
To be fair the class isn't great. I've done three out of the six weeks which is enough to figure out that it isn't going to get better.
Three weeks and not even a sniff of the downward dog. And if you think I am referring to some unholy practice that should be kept between the furkid and I you a) have a filthy mind and b) have never done yoga.
I mean, its the classic first stance. Every bloody yoga class does the downward dog as a matter of course.
But not my thigh-rubbing, chest-beating, groin-thrusting teacher.
But do you know what really put me off? She wants to talk. At the end of each class we sit round her cross-legged whilst she bestows on us a beatific smile and asks if we have any questions. We squirm whilst she stares at each one of us willing our eyes to meet hers. Eventually one unlucky bugger will be caught in the headlights and ask some inane question like:
"So, should we be breathing through our nose or mouth?"
Cue, 10 minutes of incomprehensible ramblings encompassing such gems of wisdom as "Opening up your groin will really help the nasal passages" and "when we were birds our wing span..."
So tonight I just couldn't be arsed. Besides I have packing to do. I'm off on holiday on Sunday for a week. I cannot wait. Sleep, food, wine and more sleep.
Now where is the list of what to pack?