sometimes impurities sneak in
In December I went to a yoga class that was taught by one of the handsomest men I’ve ever seen. Definitely hands-down winner of cutest yoga teacher — even cuter than the tattooed (and straight!) Jivamukti instructor in San Francisco. And that, let me assure you, is saying a lot.
This guy, apart from possessing an adorable alliterative name, is the very best of what Southern California has offer to the rest of the world — a sun-kissed surfer with a gentle, unselfconscious demeanor and jaw-dropping physique. Seriously, you just look at him and a balmy breeze ruffles your hair as the gentle harmonies of The Warmth of the Sun play softly in the distance.
Oh, no, I could not keep it together in his class, sorry. Oh, yes, it was me that snorted* when he calmly talked about streeeeeeetching the groin. I’m a walking “that’s what she said.”
That’s what I said! Oh dear.
*I pretended it was a sneeze.
I think snorting is OK. It is the whole Queebing thing I worry about.