I have taken up yoga, and I don’t care who knows. I am converted as surely as an Islington townhouse.
I used to just have a quick stretch after exercise and then rush home for toast. Now with my new yogic superpowers I am far less stiff generally (stop it), I walk around feeling loose as a goose, like a floppy-limbed monkey and I now get my tax returns in early too.
I’m not very good – shite is the Buddhist phrase for it – but I’m unrecognisable from when I started when basically each position had part of my body filing a claim under the Human Rights Act.
Not Me
Of course the women laugh at me (oh, so that's why he's single), but I sneakily hang around at the back to minimise hilarity. Except today I got caught at the front after being lured into conversation. But I simply retained an air of masculine dignity throughout proceedings and then scuttled off home for a ready meal. And toast.
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1 comment:
courageous.
that's kind of how i feel when i go into a bar on my lonesome to do crossword puzzles or sudoku.
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