Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: air tacos, annoying, burning my nosehairs with stink, downward dog, drive me up the wall, farting in public, garage shala, grating, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, shoulderstand, vent, yoga, yoga bodily noises
Tonight, I took Biggie and Smalls to the storytime at the local bookstore. Smalls gets milk and cookies, Biggie pretends like she doesn’t know us and I get to look for some new books sans interruptions – it’s the makings of a perfect evening. So there I was, minding my business, trying to decide between Lit and Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers, when all of a sudden it hits me.
Worse than B.O.
Worse than two-day old garbage.
Worse than your own child’s stinkiest diaper.
Worse than a 12-year-old’s dirty socks after a track meet.
Worse than… well, you get the point. Was there a dead squirrel rotting away in the wall behind the bookshelf? No. But it sure as shit smelled like there was. In between Karr and Roach, I had somehow wandered straight into the lovely aroma of some guy’s nuclear bomb of a fart. The kind of gas where you can diagnose him with IBS and tell that he had Taco Bell for fourth meal the night before after downing a quart of Jagermeister.
Good Lord in heaven, someone get the smelling salts and some sanitizer for me to put in netty pot.
Now I know how all those people at the grocery store who don’t get Mr. Peeved’s warning signs feel. I don’t get this. Women do not do this. What is it about men that they don’t have enough sphincter control to make it to a safe place to relieve themselves? The worst part? They try to pretend like nothing happened… doo, doo, doo, just looking at these books standing in a cloud of my own stink pretending that my eyes aren’t burning and you’re just having an olfactory hallucination.
Women aren’t without their own mishaps, however. And, they are not bad at the “if I pretend that didn’t happen, it will go away” game. A few years ago, my sister convinced me to go to yoga with her. I don’t do yoga. In fact, I don’t do any type of activity that may cause me to break into a sweat unless there is something in it for me or my life is in danger. My sister is a very convincing person. Really, you find yourself doing things and don’t know how you got there or why you agreed to them. I think she has a future in hypnotics.
We go to yoga class, which is held in a “shala” at this instructor’s private residence. Apparently, shala is code for big garage lined with saris and other colorful fabric. We settle in and the instruction begins.
Peeved: Am I doing this right?
AJenda: Yes, be quiet and listen. Just do what I do.
Peeved: I don’t think my body will do that.
Shala Master: Next, class we will do the downward dog. You really need to stretch here. And, breathe. Okay just like that famous yogi says, this is the part where you ‘raise your anal sphincter to the gods.’
Peeved: Oh, hell no. I’m out.
AJenda: Oh, stop, it’s funny.
Peeved: It would be funny if she weren’t serious. And, why is it a 120 degrees in here?
Shala Master: Okay, ladies, lets take a short break before we go into the next segment.
Peeved: [walking over to get some water] Geez, for real, it must be like 150 degrees in here. And, it smells. Is this over yet?
AJenda: Almost, stop being a baby.
Shala Master: No water!
Peeved: Wha? Huh? You talking to me?
Shala Master: Yes, no water. Yoga is supposed to cleanse your body of impurities and wash away all the negativity and blackness in your aura.
Peeved: You’re shitting me, right? She’s not a yogi, she’s a freaking nazi.
Shala Master: Okay, class, time to get into a shoulder stand.
Peeved: Um, I’ll just sit this one out.
AJenda: Just do it. You’re fine.
Women all around start getting into the shoulderstand. But, see what’s missing from the diagram above is the sound that emits from 3 out of every 10 women when they go from position A to position B. It’s a sound that should NEVER be heard in public. I will leave it up to your imagination what that may be.
Peeved: Is that what I think it is?
AJenda: Yes, shh.
Peeved: We can’t all just pretend like that didn’t happen.
AJenda: Yes we can. Grow up. It happens.
Peeved: Oh, hell no. I am not doing a shoulder stand. I suggest you refrain, too.
Just at that moment, as I’m struggling to swallow, trying not to breathe in the smell of 20 sweaty women and wondering how the hell everyone just kept a straight face, something miraculous happens. A truck pulls into the driveway in front of the “shala” and a big burly guy gets out. He carries a twelve pack of beer in each hand and walks past the windows of the garage and into the house. I have an epiphany. This yoga shit is spiritual after all.
Peeved: Hey, AJenda, I’m gonna go drink some beers with Shala Master’s husband. Come get me when you’re done pretending this is fun and that 6 people didn’t just make mortifying bodily noises.
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