Sunday, January 16, 2011
How to Change Clothes After Practicing Bikram Yoga Without Inflicting Upon God and All Creation the Sight of Your Splayed Buttocks
I practice yoga at Bikram Yoga Chicago, where there's usually 30 people in each class, regardless of time of day. (What with some New Year's resolutions and "Bikram challenges" still going strong, it's now not uncommon for there to be upwards of 40.) Of these 30-40 people, maybe 12 are men. Of these 12 men, maybe (maybe) one of them would like to see my bare bottom. But when even this one guy who actually wants to see my bare bottom innocently pulls back the linen curtain and steps inside the rickety bamboo frame of our studio's Gilligan's Island-style changing area, the last thing he wants to see is me from behind as I stand nude-skidoo, bent at the waist and rummaging through a duffle bag situated on the floor in front of me. And remember: this is the guy with a yen to see my unadorned tookus. If he reacts to the sight of my splayed buttocks with repugnance, just imagine how the guys must feel who do not want to see my unadorned tookus.
Fortunately, this situation is easily remedied. Judging from what I've seen behind the linen curtain, I am the first person on earth to discover a simple procedure for changing my clothes after practicing Bikram yoga without inflicting on god and all creation the sight of my splayed buttocks. I now share with you this poorly illustrated tutorial in the true spirit of Bikram: with generosity, friendship and the willingness to file litigation against anything that moves.
I'll be straight with you: it's not just about splayed buttocks. It's about buttocks in general. And wangs. I'd simply prefer not to see them, and you can throw in scrotums to boot.
Maybe I'm just "uptight." Perhaps I need to "loosen up a little" and "stop taking (my)self so seriously." Sure, I guess it's possible that I'm "just another repressed American who fetishizes sexual organs because he didn't get to see them on prime-time television while growing up in a culture that relentlessly drilled its members to believe that certain body parts were dirty." (And just to get it out of the way, yes, maybe I'm "gay" or "projecting" due to my own poor self-image.)
Maybe. All I'm saying is that I'd really rather not pull back that linen curtain to see your bits and pieces while you stand naked as a jaybird casually checking voice messages. Nor do I care to hear the wet slap of your John Thomas striking the inside of your thigh as you frantically swivel on one foot, with raised heel ensnared in an underwear waistband.
Is that too much too ask? Could we all at least give modesty a try, just for kicks? Please?