Death by Yoga Clothes

Posted by Becky Boo on August 2, 2014 in Really? REALLY?!?!?!?!?!, Unsupervised |

YogaI have come to the conclusion that I should never live alone.  Why you ask? Is it because I need constant companionship? Nope. Is it because I have no idea how to use a stove? Perhaps.

Apparently, when left to my own devices I always seem to find a way to create some form of dangerous chaos.

If I were to live solo, I am thoroughly convinced that my body would only be found when someone noticed a very weird smell coming from a corner of my home, where I fell, simply walking in straight line.

Case in point, yoga clothes.  I honestly cannot remember the last time my yoga clothes actually SAW a yoga class or any pose other than “Sleeping baby” and “Netflix Viewer”.  I wear them pretending that perhaps I may just drop into a pose at a moment’s notice, and become more Zen.

Stop by my house any evening and I totally look like I am about to go all Warrior pose on your ass.  Just ignore the fact I am most likely eating Cheetos’s and or drinking a glass of wine, maybe both at the same time if it has been a really rough day…

I just get stuck in them, literally (The clothes, not the wine or Cheetos’s).

There have been many times that the HG has had to rescue me from being suffocated from a yoga tank that is somehow stuck on my face, arms stuck above my head or behind my back  sending me crashing around the house in a blind panic.  You would think that at my age I would be able to dress myself…


Me *insert muffled screams*  “HELP!HELP!”

HG “Um, seriously?” (as he pulls the tank down over my head)

Me “These clothes should come with warning labels”

HG “how do you survive when I am not here?”

Me “Am I too old to have a Nanny?”


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