Friday, August 26, 2011


GUESS what?
I know this post is going to come off catty, but I have woken up giddy with catty, biting venemous urges. Read on with caution.

Today I am teaching a lesson to the ladies of the fancy Guess store on Filungo. I have a love/hate relationship with that store since the windows are always a huge turn on, but then once you get inside you realize that all of the articles of clothing are as narrow, even in the arm hole size, as those left too long in the clothes dryer and rendered so adherent that they fit only those who have the same dimensions as a Barbie doll: 34, 18, 32. My inner thighs object and call the next witness to the stand. The other problem I have with the store is that even though I have bought a few big ticket items there such as my winter coat, whose arm holes continue to be a problem, the ladies who work there never smile at you even if they thank you for your purchase.  They look slightly relieved when you buy something, but they try very hard not to show it.  It was only when I brought Kim of the platinum American Express card in last week that I have ever seen one of them smile without cracking something. And they could crack easily as the word on the street, at least amongst the mothers of Carducci who gossip in the parking lot outside school, is that they all have taken a pact of starving themselves like fashion-crazed Ghandis.

But when my friend Christina told me that there was a secret black market yoga class taking place on the second floor there on Fridays during the intervallo, I started nurturing the fantasy that some day they would be mine. Hence the 3 euro black yoga mats purchased at Decathalon, my loss of appetite, some 2 euro pitchers to be filled with ice water and lemon slices, and my weird obsession with arm hole size. Yesterday I started getting paranoid that they wouldn't come to my house for the class, but one of the ring leaders called me to check if they needed to bring their Ghandi approved yoga mats with them and was hesitantly impressed that I had already gotten that covered.  Then she balked to learn that they would have to bring sneakers -- the dreaded scarpe da ginnastica -- because when they do yoga, darling, they go barefoot and can show off their teeny Barbie pedicures. Sh*t. Well, you can't have everything. Plus I offered them the class for too cheap and will have to let them know that the price was for five of them, not for three. Approximately five of them smooshed together make the size of one average American, if you do the math.

So they arrived on time and as a quartet and surprisingly they were more shy and less coordinated than I expected. I did the class the way I always do the classes and they seemed happy with it.  Let me rephrase that.  Have you ever seen people with lots of botox try to smile? Not that they have done botox, but maybe they have taken a preparation class. It was not sheer joy or abundant friendship that they offered me, but an appointment twice a week to try and kick their little skinny butts. And I shall. And you know something? I bet we become friends. Eventually.

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