I was sick this past weekend. I reached
out for support and was offered every home-remedy ranging from rest
and tea to Nyquil and beer. I decided to beat the shit out of the
sickness with the unbridled power of yoga:
Regular
bodily functions are a terrible thing to have in spandex among ten
fit strangers; gassiness, coughing, and having an unstoppable itch
are all natural things that are amplified in a quiet and zen room.
Having a case of plugged-sinuses made me feel incredibly
self-conscious and justifiably gross:
After sleevin' it
for the rest of the class, I was relieved to unwind in the least
judgemental place on Earth — the city bus.
A year ago, my
friend taught me how to crochet. I vaguely remember her becoming
frustrated with my slow learning progress and threatening me with
physical violence. She can't hold a candle to this crochet-shaming
bus-monster:
This lady noticed
my craft and confided that she too knows how to crochet.
“Do you know how to make a chain?” she asked sweetly/menacingly.
“Do you know how to make a chain?” she asked sweetly/menacingly.
“I think so,”
said I with trust and foolishness.
“Here,” she
said while taking my yarn and stick away from me.
I didn't realise I
had been crocheting all wrong. This is how I crochet:
when I should
be crocheting like:
There's this
hand-contortion that you're supposed to do to make the process look
effortless. It's something like:
and I just
couldn't get my hand to stay folded in that position. If left
unsupervised, the hand would unfurl and go back to groping and
mishandling the yarn.
The lady kept
taking the crochet from me to demonstrate. Each time, she would walk
me through the steps, hand the yarn back, and look around the bus to
make eye contact with someone so she could shrug and shake her head
like “Can you believe this
girl?”
can you believe she actually said that? |
But really, the lady was incredibly adorable during the entire bus ride
and, as a bonus, we used the impromptu lesson to ignore the drunk,
dishevelled vagrant who was yelling to us.