I’m a big yoga fan. Love myself an hour of downward dog and triangle poses. Its one of the few things that empties out my brain and leaves my physically exhausted.
Yoga is full of hot chicks. Skin tight clothing, buff shoulders and flexibility for days. Plus yoga chicks have butts you can bounce a quarter off and they always seem so damn happy. Sure some are a little hairy and spacey, but you’ve never met a group of women more willing to hug you, give you a big smile and be excited to see you on a Tuesday evening.
Yoga is not, however, a place to meet guys. The few who frequent my studio are way too patchouli scented for my taste, and there is something weird about a guy who can bend himself in two with an ethereal smile. Call me cynical, but I can’t help thinking he’s going to orally satisfy himself later. And I’m not even getting started on the ‘recently returned from an ashram’ type, who’s been fasting for weeks and plays a lute.
Lately however I’ve noticed some ‘non yoga’ types showing up in class. Guys with gym shorts and stiff legs. Guys who don’t have white man dreds and look kind of normal. Yay. Maybe things are changing. Except … except… with the influx of normal cute guys come the leery dudes. The guys who might be trying to get more flexible and find some calm, but seem to spend most of class staring at butts . Who announce their evening plans before class and invite everyone to join after class. Who want you to help them stretch their calves and offer to do the same for you.
Here’s the thing. Its not a question of cute vs. non cute, young vs. old. Hot guy asks me to help him stretch his ‘groins’, its still wigging me out (and making me giggle at the word ‘groins’). Maybe its something to do with the fact that you’re kind of naked. That you can smell each others sweat. Its too intimate for anything resembling normal casual conversation. I am too self conscious. I just freeze up and back away slowly. All I can think is ‘oh god, you can see my crotch sweat stains’. Not something I need to share with anyone, never mind a strange guy.
So here’s a message to the guys in yoga. Wait until we’ve gone our sweatshirts and socks on. Until we can’t smell you and you can’t see an sweaty outline of Jesus on our boobs. Then we might actually take you up on your coffee invite. Or stretch your ‘groins’.