I’m about to get controversial. It was bound to happen sooner or later – but before I do I want to make this caveat:
I am generally a most accepting person. I mean, I’m all for all types: ugly people in brightly lit spaces – fine by me. Old ka-weens – you know I love em. Hey, I’ll even let Taylor Swift eat dinner with me…
but, um, men in my yoga class? No. Hell no. I mean, I guess the gay ones can stay but the rest of you hairy mofos have got to GO.
Look, it’s nothing personal. I generally like straight men. I’ve even been known to carry on conversations with ones that aren’t my husband and these conversations have lasted complete minutes without me losing my mind.
The thing is – ok, see, it’s biological. Men are not biologically designed for yoga. You just aren’t. It’s the reason men’s gymnastics looks like this
and women’s looks like this
In other words, YOU NEED TO GET YOUR JUNK OUT OF MY FACE!
The last thing I want when I’m trying to achieve my serenity now is some gnarly ball swinging around. And it’s not like I can look away, I mean, an exposed sac is like an eclipse – you know it’s going to make you go blind but you can’t help staring directly at it. Fuuuuuccck.
Perhaps some of the problem is the cloth selection and maybe that’s why the gays get it right. Because they understand the importance of looking cute and appropriately covered up.
Let me lay it out:
There are exceptions to the rules of course:
Exception 1: Exceeding hotness. If you’re completely gorgeous and toned… I’ll probably assume you’re gay. However, even if you turn out to be straight, I’ll still let you do some warrior next to me. Of course, if you stink of patchouli I’ll beat you with a hemp rope.
Exception 2: Older gentlemen. I want to hate your presence but I feel like perhaps you’ve been told by your doctor to be here. I respect the medical professionals. They know lots about lots. Just don’t put your mat down in my line of sight, kay?
Exception 3: You comment on how great my ass looks.
If you do not fall into one of these categories OR you do not figure out how to dress properly – take it to the elliptical machine or something. I don’t care, just get out.
Really, guys, it’s….gross.