Farting In Yoga

This is just a quick note to the woman who farted in yoga today. You know who you are. If you don’t know who you are then let me remind you: you have a reddish, curly mane, your nose is smaller than it wants to be and your yoga mat is blue. I want all of my readers who live in the Los Angeles area to look in a mirror or a reflective pair of sunglasses right now and if your features match the above description, you farted and I know it.

A yoga room is a scary, vulnerable, and disturbingly feminine space to begin with and your vegan fart didn’t help me feel any safer in there. You’ve done this before, too. This is why I can’t go to classes in public.

So, please, what I ask of you is simple, next time you feel the need to spread your poo-gas all over the world, go outside, get in your car, drive to your house, go into your bathroom, lock the door behind you, and release.

I get that you’re pregnant, but I don’t really care. Leave the communal air alone.

And remember, I am the light which is the light in you. Namaste.

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