When BF took yoga

I grasped BF’s hand the other day like you would have held hands with your significant other in high school, and he reminded me of this funny, funny thing that happened mainly to him about five years ago.  Here we go: 

I was taking yoga on a weekly basis, and BF asked me if I thought yoga would help him.  He always complained about aches and pains and tight muscles, and so I said, “well, it could.  It certainly wouldn’t hurt” so the next time the yoga studio a couple towns over had a Free Yoga weekend, I brought it up to BF who said he was game. 

On the way to the yoga class that Saturday morning, BF asked for an explanation of what happens in yoga class.  I gave him the play by play so he would know exactly what to expect and explained to him that the last 5 minutes or so of class are spent in shavasana– or corpse pose.  Everyone lies on their back, hands by their side, and takes a little meditative breather.  With BF prepared, we worked our way into the jam- packed yoga class and found a spot where we could be side by side. 

The hour of yoga appeared to go well for BF– which was a relief because the yoga teacher was a bit more New Age than I had prepared him for and he usually wants to be prepared for that sort of thing.  Nonetheless, he didn’t seem fazed with any of her terminology and did everything she asked ,and I kept thinking, “well, this just might be something we can do together.”  Finally, class started drawing to a close and she instructed us to get in our corpse poses.  With the room so packed my hand fell near BF’s hand.  Instinctively, I am sure, he grabbed my hand and loosely held it.  Not fingers interlaced or anything– just his hand on top of mine.  As the yoga instructor walked the room, giving instruction, she must have noticed this because the next thing she said went something a little like this,

“Just relax into your pose.  If you want, feel free to hold hands and connect with the person beside you.  Just do what feels natural.” 

All of a sudden, a bolt of tension shot through BF’s hand into mine.  His mellow was indeterminedly harshed.  My eyes closed, I had no idea what had happened and when we walked out of the classroom a few minutes later, he couldn’t get to the car fast enough. 

Inside the car, I turned to him.  

“Did you like the class?” 

“I did, but then something really weird happened.  The lady on the other side of me grabbed my hand after the teacher said she could, and interlaced her fingers in mine in a tight hand holding grip.  Why would she do that?  She doesn’t even know me!” 

Shocked, I started laughing– that this lady would interlace her fingers with BF’s and that he would be so worked up over it.  BF looked at me incredulously. 

“Why are you laughing?  I feel violated.  Here I am all new to yoga and trying to get all peaceful and just as it’s about to happen she comes and just jacks me all up again.” 

As you might imagine, BF never went back to yoga.