Being at Bikram Yoga once a weekend allows me to focus my energy and my mind. It forces me to be still and really pull everything together for a minimum of 90 minutes a week. To some of you, that may not seem like a lot, but to someone like your WebMistress, that is an excruciating amount of stand-still time.
Unfortunately, that allowance has recently been raped by The Man Who Wears A Speedo To Class.
That’s right, ladies & gentlemen, he actually wears a Speedo to Bikram Yoga.
Look. I get it. I get that it’s insanely hot and that you sweat your a** off. I also ‘get’ that Speedos are made for water, but so are ducks and fish and last I checked no one was wearing either to my yoga class.
I’ve managed to ignore the idiot men who think it’s acceptable for them to display their hairy backs and chests, their big bloated bellies and unnaturally large nipples. BUT THE SPEEDO IS KILLING ME.
IT’S KILLING ME. And not even softly.
This past weekend, I was next to The Man Who Wears A Speedo To Class…and when we had to bend over, I didn’t really much appreciate the free-flow of information provided by his Speedo. Imagine if I’d slipped and went tumbling forward? I’d have had to scrape my face off to recover.
(It took every ounce of self control for me to not start sobbing WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOUR SENSE OF SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOUR AND WEAR, MAN? I’m not even entirely certain I know how I made it through that class without strangling him in his own little hammock or forcing the teacher who didn’t say anything to bend over behind The Man Who Wears A Speedo To Class.)
I sent the centre an email asking if they’ll consider having an ‘at minimum shorts’ policy. I don’t think they’ll take me seriously and I expect they’ll send me a “the body is beautiful” email.
If they do, I’m donning a fat and hairy suit and going in with a tanga and a string bikini top. As a man.