I just can’t get along without you

In my opinion there’s something very peculiar about a person who takes part in any kind of physical activity whilst wearing sweat pants, then straight after, immediately blows all that hard work by eating a chocolate chip muffin.

“It takes all kinds,” said Guido. He had a, you don’t know what you’re talking about, sort of a look on his face when he said that. He was also holding a felt tip pen and one of my old sketch pads between his legs at the time. He’d drawn the words – YOGA & CAKE – on it in bold capital letters to make a sign; that seemed to me to be a complete oxymoron. Those two words just shouldn’t be connected by an ampersand.

“Well, that’s an oxymoron if ever I saw one,” I said pointing to what he’d written.

Trust me, oxymoron, was a very big word for a Wednesday night conversation between me and Guido in our bed with no sign of sex on the cards and no dictionary. Now I could tell that he knew, that I knew, that he didn’t know what I was talking about.

“Stop trying to impress me by using big words with moron in it,” he said.

I love the idea of taking up yoga. I love it almost as much as I love the idea of cake. But I’m worried about the obvious practicalities. Like getting down on the floor and then being able to actually get back up again. Eating a fluffy sponge topped with a sticky ganache is so much easier folks.

The reason I’m telling you this is because there’s a fitness instructor called Cara who now drinks coffee in The Fish Kettle and wants to take over the whole place for a one hour yoga class on Sunday mornings. Apparently she knows an army of people who like to get their kicks by standing on their heads. You just bring your own mat and then strip off. Why Guido thinks anyone would want to then spoil their zen like state by eating a slice of cake is debatable. I’m not at all averse to people stretching downstairs in the cafe, as long as they don’t all start chanting loudly. Hey, it’s the only day I get to laze upstairs in bed under the blanket.

“I bet you can’t even cross your legs properly,” said Guido crossing his legs properly.

I lay back and looked at his hairy thighs. He really should cross his legs with no clothes on more often.

“Very good,” I said, “now put your left ankle behind your right ear.”

“Oh now you’re just being silly,” said Guido, “but I tell you what, if you can do it – I’ll even get you some cake to eat in bed right this second and to hell with any melted frosting on the clean sheets.”

Here’s a word of advice from someone who now knows. If you ever get an unexpected offer to have sex and then right after eat a muffin in the lotus position, don’t turn it down.

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56 thoughts on “I just can’t get along without you

  1. i confess i have been lurking here for a while
    congratulations on the move into the Fish Kettle.

    do what you want but a diet is best done from your arm chair. kill your self with the exercise and you have lost like ~333.33 calories, equivalent to a candy bar.

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  2. Oh you just have to really rub it in (no pun intended) don’t you. Sex and desert, two things most men really love. I get neither, I’m never reading this blog ever again!

    Well not really because I would miss it.

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  3. I missed your funny insights on life as I had been off reading blogs for a while. This one is hilarious as I totally get your point about yoga and cake together. Perhaps one can see it as compensating the hard work until one starts to get a healthier appetite 😀

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  4. Oh man – nice. If you know me on facebook one seriously delectable cake I made was a Coffee Walnut number. And regards coffee I’ve become a big old snob about coffee. I buy drier green Arabica beans, then use a cheap ass Stir Crazy popcorn machine to roast it, then grind and into a French Press with 200F water for 3 minutes. Best damned coffee we’ve ever had.

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  5. I will take your words of wisdom well. Alas, the odds of that offer actually happening are near nil.
    I agree with the previous comments – no photo = it didn’t happen.

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  6. I’m so glad you’re back! I’ve been missing your stories this summer. If it makes you feel any better, I know an extraordinary yoga teacher who runs Sunday morning classes at a distillery. Yes, you read that correctly. People show up with yoga mats, do an hour of mind-blowing contortions, then get liquored up on whiskey. On a Sunday morning.

    Of all the students she teaches, these Sunday morning folks are the happiest. And they keep coming back.

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  7. Yaaayyyy!!! I’m so glad you’re back! I missed your posts.

    I have a suggestion:

    Gay Men’s Yoga. The guys arrive and strip off, then they spend however long it takes to get their “core” in order on a yoga mat while checking each other out.
    Once their core is all limber and such, sell them homemade frosting only – no muffin required – and offer different flavors. The instructions on the frosting cups are to read: “Using fingers, apply copiously to your partner and then savor the taste of him and his core as you lick, suck, and nibble it off of his body.”

    You’ll have a line around the block of gay boys waiting to get in! If someone is concerned about getting frosting on their sheets at home, tell them to move to their kitchen table or the hood of their car instead. Who needs cake?

    Like

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