“Let’s open a store called FOREVER 39. We can sell wine and yoga pants.”
As often as possible, I attend a yoga class. Though I never thought of myself as the type of person who could ever achieve a zen-like state….I’m pretty wound….all the time….I have to admit that yoga does wonders for me.
When I really focus in on the practice, I can feel the stress and frustrations of the day, or week, melt away….and I get my best night’s sleep post class. At least I did until yesterday, when I discovered that my face is falling off my head.
If you’ve ever been to a gym before, you might have noticed that the regulars tend to have a favored spot, or bike, or other piece of equipment they gravitate toward.
My gym is no different, but no one is a bitch about it. So, when I arrived for yoga last night and found a new person in my typical spot, I just chose another, settled into Lotus pose and waited for class to begin.
My usual spot is near a half wall, that’s kind of like a long, narrow shelf. I like it there, because I can use the wall to cheat during some of the balance poses.
My new location was directly beside a wall of mirrors that runs the entire length of one side of the gym. I didn’t think much of it until I found myself in Prasarita Padottansana, which is a wide-legged forward bend.
We can pretend this is me….she’s OK….I guess.
Typically, I keep my eyes closed during my practice, unless otherwise instructed to open them. It helps me to block out the activity around me so that I can fully concentrate.
For some reason though, I decided to open them while bent over with the mirror at my back. The first thing I noticed was that the position made my ass look like a billboard and I wondered for a moment if it would be possible to write supercalifragilisticexpialidocious across my rear.
The second thing I noticed was that my cheeks (face cheeks) appeared to be on my forehead. It was legit frightening and after I gasped in horror, I did what women have been doing for centuries….I took a look around the room and compared myself to the other women.
This was only moderately helpful, since I was flanked by two, fresh faced twenty-somethings. But, I did notice that a few other ladies had pools of skin dangling from their hairlines as well, so I was at least relieved to know that the only thing dying was my youth.
Yes, I am aware that things change as we age, it’s just that I would prefer to defy nature….because I like to set goals that are high and largely unattainable.
Having lost all ability to focus on the original intention of my practice that evening, I settled on a new one. Trying to force my skin back into its original location by making a series of faces. This did not work.
Then, I was reminded of the Golden Girls and that episode where Blanche, Dorothy and Sophia are discussing how long each woman waited to have sex with someone new, after their husbands were no longer in the picture.
Dorothy says, “You know, when you’re twenty, everything stays where it’s supposed to. Now, when you lean over, it looks like somebody’s let the air out of your face.”
Dorothy then challenges an incredulous Blanche to look over a mirror and see the effect for herself, which she does with comical results.
Anyway, I’m not sure what to do about this. I’ve seen too many seasons of The Real Housewives of (insert any city) and the evolution of Kim Kardashian’s face, to go anywhere near Botox.
So, is there some kind of fruit, or plant, or cream I can use that will magically turn back time? I’m looking for a relatively inexpensive, quick fix. I’ll even accept a potion brewed by the devil, whatever is going to work.
But if there is nothing that can be done that does not involve a scalpel, or a needle….if I am to accept that this is just the natural order of things….then I guess I’ll have to accept it.
But you can bet your ass I’ll bitch slap the new girl at yoga for my spot back.