WARNING TO PARENTS AND CLOSE FAMILY: THIS ENTRY IS ABOUT MY VAGINA, IF THAT WILL OFFEND YOU PLEASE SKIP THIS!!! If not, carry on.
Male yoga instructors contort you into awkward positions with little or no regard for how it may affect your feminine mystique. For example last night our slightly goofy substitute instructor made us do this thing that, well, sucked air into my vagina like a freakin' bellows. And then what happened during the next asana, but much to my horror, it came flrblatting out in a sound closely akin to that of one soiling one's trousers. Not once. Not twice. But three times. And there I sat burning in shame and trying to act like nothing happened but really wanting to raise my hand and explain to the class that, no in fact, I did not just scatologically let loose into my stretchy yet supportive yoga shorts, but did in point suffer from air being expelled from my delicate girlish bits. But then no. Because that would not really ameliorate their gross-out factor, now would it? So there I sat, suffering my bodily shame in silence. But no more! NO MORE, I tell you! Because I have the whole of the Internets to share my shame with! My shame AND my fear and loathing of the dreaded male yoga instructor. Thank you, and goodnight.