Calling all weirdos 9 March 2015
My yoga class is filled with perfect bodies. I want out!
I live in Richmond. It sucks.
Sure we have every convenience imaginable. They say if you have to walk more than 500 metres to anything – hospital, school, hardware store – then you’re no longer in Richmond.
And they say that for every yoga school, there’s 16 more yoga schools per capita. And that doesn’t even make sense!
So I’m going to yoga classes, and they’re all packed with these 20-something skinny things in tight yoga pants, perky breasts and shiny hair in ponytails.
These are the kinds of women who drive zippy hatchbacks (I’ve seen). They probably go home and eat quinoa salads and activated almonds and don’t need to diet because they’ve never had a baby.
And in yoga classes, they do things that humans shouldn’t do. They bend and fold their bodies in godless ways.
They’re aliens. Or maybe Stepford Wives. Or they’re genetically-modified in a lab. But these women are certainly not human! At least not compared to the tragedy that is my blood n bones.
Whatever they are, I don’t care to see them when I do my yoga. They’re the last thing I want to see.
And this is why Richmond sucks. I want to do outer suburban yoga with single mothers with Mummy Tummies, and ageing middle-class men with beer guts.
Oh no, those average types are too good to come out to Richmond. And I can’t drive out there.
So I’m starting my own yoga school. But like getting your passport photo taken, you need 100 points of customised ID to get in.
Do you have what it takes? Are you weird enough?
My ambition is nothing less than total. I will create a fantastic yoga school. I will reclaim it for the weirdos. I will have you again … my Richmond
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