“Yo, Lori! [chest bump] Have you tried Titanium Tightass Yoga? It’s WICKED.”
Um, no, but thank you for letting me know of its existence. Hi, I’m Lori. Nice to meet you. Sit down, please. You’re very kind to let me know about this exercise that clearly has benefited you. Being able to crack my filberts on your ass really saved me in nutcracker costs and for this I am grateful.
I’m not sure you noticed, but I am a large woman. An extra large woman… for now. And while your yoga video was very motivating (loved the olive oil and diffused lighting btw), I must tell you that several of your more advanced poses are difficult when sporting more than a few sourdough loaves on my torso.
If you could provide something more my level for now, say more of a tapioca program than titanium yoga, I would try it. Maybe… if there were no witnesses.
Failing that, I’ve been doing this cutting-edge thing called ‘walking.’ Oh, you have heard of it? No, no, I don’t have a pedometer or those sneakers that sculpt one’s bum. What? No, I haven’t had a kinesiologist analyze my stride or a cardiologist monitor my heart. Where? Um, I actually do it outside. You know, like in a park or around my neighbourhood listening to music. Are you smirking? How fast? I guess somewhere between house-cat-walking and car-backing-out-of-driveway. I know, I know. How will this ever work if I don’t take it seriously?
Well, don’t laugh, but I have this bizarre notion that if I enjoy the walking, I’ll want to do it more. I distinctly remember telling you not to laugh. Call me crazy, but a militant exercise program devoid of joy, silliness and nature doesn’t feel like a good fit for me.
Hey, where are you going? You forgot your protein shake. Hello? Okay, well… bye? Your ass looks great though. Seriously. Is that a dime between your cheeks? Are you mad? Facebook?