I learned it was a mistake wearing capris pants to my last hot yoga class.

 
Capris are slippery on their own but when your sweaty foot tries to wrap around some or any part of the sweat-soaked, silky fabric you are better off in shorts.

Unfortunately for me, that statement turned out to be false. Shorts with exposed skin ended up even more slippery than capris. The skin is more slippery than a wet banana on a 90 degree incline.

 
The shorts had to be somewhat tight because when it comes time to attempt three-legged-chocolate-pretzel pose, I can’t be worrying about any part of the pretzel exposing the Caramilk secrets.

 
It’s hard enough being in a building that should be named Lilliput Yoga Studio because I am a giant Gulliver in a foggy room filled with tiny, flexible, breathing-only-through-their-noses elves. You can spot them on the street if you look carefully because they will be arched backwards holding their feet and their flaring nostrils are their only means of communicating.

It used to be “in through the nose and out through the mouth” but in an effort to bring hot yoga a little closer to total suffocation, they’ve eliminated the mouth part entirely.

 
I opted to wear a pair of Joe Fresh shorts because next to all the lululemon they helped me stand out even more than had I walked in nude.

 
Unfortunately, the shorts lost their shoelace tie around the waist when I put them on so one side was dangling the full length of my inseam while the other was lost in the folds.

 
I used my Mom’s trick of sliding a safety pin onto the exposed end and patiently pushing it around the waist of the shorts but the pin popped open somewhere around the middle of this exercise when I impatiently decided to just yank it out. It caught some of the fabric and pulled it out with it so I went to class with shorts meant to tie but without the tie at all, just two obvious holes at the front. Classy.

 
I was also wearing an $11 yoga shirt I bought at Winners because Winners is my favourite but Winners clearance is next to Godliness.

 
So there’s a pose I just don’t get. Picture if you will, you are lying “flat”on your stomach on a yoga mat, legs stretched out straight behind you, arms at your sides with a towel with one ripple in just the right place to injure you permanently when you press the full weight of your body onto it. Now shimmy your straight arms beneath your body so your hands are under your thighs close to your knees, palms pressing flat on the floor. Your elbows are tucked in under your rib-cage and completely out of sight. Mostly because your elbow has found a space in your ribs and your arms have slipped inside your torso. Don’t worry, yoga is good for you.

 
This is also called serial killer pose because if you can convince people to tie up their own bodies willingly, it must be easy to off them.

 
When the yoga instructor senses confusion (you aren’t allowed to speak or breathe through your mouth so this is all done with nose gestures) he says, “Place your hands like you are returning a volleyball.”

 
And I think to myself volleyball is the one sport I know (or used to) something about and I never ONCE returned a volleyball lying on a mat with my arms under my body, elbows buckling and blinded by a combination of my own sweat and tears from the smells all around me. Maybe that’s the game I broke my wrist?

 
I instinctively tried to clasp my hands together because that’s how I would have returned a volleyball and also, I was praying this would end without a trip to Emerge because who would take me seriously in this outfit?

 
I took Hanna’s water bottle. The one she has complained repeatedly has a leaking problem.

 
Why I thought it wouldn’t leak all over my cheap shirt and crazy shorts when I took it out of the house remains a mystery.

 
Thank God I don’t care what people think!