Recent moments at yoga class:

• A lady of indeterminate age and nationality, a modern-day Zsa Zsa, begged off from doing a headstand because her “head, it’s noomb.” The teacher, alarmed, asked why could that be? “Oh, it’s just from my faceleeft!” Later in the class, she farted vigorously. She just smiled and said “OOPsie!”
• After pulling on my yoga pants and going into class, I noticed that, post-laundry, the drawstring had sucked its way into the waistband. I stood on my mat and started massaging the drawstring in that laborious and peculiar way that one must do. I suddenly realized that the whole class had stopped everything and was hypnotized, watching the process. Everyone gave a gentle “yay” when the pants were tied; class began.
• Often we chant three oms at the end of class. The instructor sets the note; I have to stifle my un-zen mirth when some one belts out their om but is completely off-key. Can they hear how off it is when they do it, or is that what being tone deaf is all about?
• Recent interruptions to class: a ringing cell phone, owned by the deeply mortified instructor; a lady, with a little kid doing a white-hot pee pee dance in tow, asking for the facilities (the request was granted in the nick of time); and a rhythmic pock, pock sound against the back wall during our chavasana (final rest) phase. A brave yogi carefully picked his barefoot way to the back of the building to see. It was a human, ostensibly practicing his tennis stroke against our building. The pock-ing happens quite a bit, though, which leads me to believe this person is fucking with the studio. What could possibly be grounds for this vendetta? Too many good vibes?

Photo: Cookie yoga pose… by simplycute becka. Thanks for letting me use it!