Big Yoga Weekend!

I had the great pleasure this weekend of spending two days doing Yoga. In Charlotte. Without kids. A friend and I shared a hotel room and spent most of Saturday and Sunday stretching, om-ing, expanding our unenlightened minds and indulging our total hippy sides. It was great, which I'll try to remember tomorrow morning, when I can't get out of bed.

Because Yoga is all about balance, we also had a scrumptious meal Saturday night, with plenty of wine and my first shot of Tequila, and we went to the mall today before coming back to Columbia. Even though I know Yoga attracts all kinds (like my own strange self), I'm still always surprised to see the number of fake bosoms at these workshops. I suppose they're no more distracting than the hot Yoga dude without the shirt. Or the Yoga dude in tight pants who likes to do back bends. Or the any-gendered Yogi who thinks deodorant is for nature haters. Or the person who can't carry a tune and insists on chanting louder than everyone else. But I digress. I was talking about bosoms.

Please understand. I'm not in any way criticizing owners of fake boobs. I know and love plenty of ladies who have them. I want fake boobs, even though I'm probably too chicken and cheap to get them. I agree with the guy who said,

"Hey, if I can see 'em and I can touch 'em, they're real."

Amen to that. But I just don't expect to see them in Yoga. I saw one set so large they must have challenged the balance of their owner. I saw another pair trying desperately to escape their meager sports bra container. I saw a few sets that led me to wonder,

"Did she or didn't she?"

I wish I knew a graceful way to ask that question, because if she did, I want to know who the artist doctor was. And how much they cost...and how long the recovery was... But you have to know someone pretty well to ask that question. In fact, if you know them that well, you probably already know the answer, because you brought them soup when they were recovering.

Yoga attracts all kinds, including, but not limited to, the following:

• Crazy people.
• People obsessed with their bodies.
• People who really like big boobs.
• People romantically involved with people who like really big boobs.
• People who do things for themselves, in a positive way, because they're in tune with their feelings.

Any of those people might also be people who would have boob jobs*. If I can ever figure out which one of those people I might be, I'll consider getting the boobs. I'll only get them if I become enlightened and realize I'm the in-tune-with-her-feelings sort. It will take a lot of meditating to find the answer. But, man, would I ever love some fancy boobs, the kind I could take anywhere and put into any sort of clothing without worrying where they might end up. The sort of boobs that didn't wander into my armpits or towards my belly button at the slightest provocation. The sort of boobs that wouldn't reach up and slap me in the chin if I went running without a bra**. Boobs 2.0.

By the way, if anyone ever sees me and wonders if I did or didn't, please ask. If I didn't, I'll be thrilled that they look good enough to be manufactured. If I did, I'll be happy to share. Not "share" as in let you touch them, but "share" as in tell you all about them. You'll wish you never asked. Eh. You could just wait to read about them on my blog.

Namasté, y'all!

* There's a lesson in here somewhere about sets and sub-sets, but you won't get it from me. Math teachers take note! Venn Diagrams could be involved. Venn diagrams of two sets look like fake boobs, so it would be a great visual reminder. I've always found Venn Diagrams very comforting. Maybe because I was breastfed. Yup, this is the stuff I think about.

** Not that I would go running without a bra. I'd be very protective of my fancy boobs.