Summer Sausage

27 Jun

In preparation for the 108 sun salutations that my Ashtanga yoga class does every solstice, I decided to paint the house.  Not the entire house- just the trim.

I figured that if I could deal with sweat trickling down my face, 95 degree temperatures and 80% humidity while on a ladder, I could perform 108 sun salutations with the greatest of ease.

What I hadn’t figured on was the wasps and their insatiable hunger for Exterior Hi-Gloss White.  (The paint.  Though my skin is pretty pasty and it does develop a sheen when I sweat.  Also, I was outside.)

Three stings to the hand later, my entire left arm looked like Soppressata and hurt like, I don’t know, maybe sausage being made?  Anyway, by the time I drove to the gas station/mini mart/pizza+sub shop* and realized that I was not having a throat-closing/life-threatening allergic reaction, I really craved a Mounds bar instead of Benadryl.

And while a chocolate-and-coconut flavored antihistamine would have been ideal, all this Ashtanga practice has taught me that I can’t have everything: if my Down Dog feels good, my Up Dog flows like cement.  I had to choose between a Mounds bar or Benadryl.  Hello, I went with Peter and Paul.  I love those guys.

*Don’t eat gas station egg salad.  Ever.  No matter how “fresh” they say it is.

As for the sun, the salutations, the painting and the wasps?

Well, another great lesson that yoga teaches is gratitude.

And maybe I’ll never be a yogi, perhaps I’ll never move beyond scorpion pose but I will say this: no wasp, no chocolate; no chocolate, no happy; no happy, no paint.

No paint, no sunburn.

What a scam yoga is.

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One Response to “Summer Sausage”

  1. M V Austin June 27, 2012 at 8:26 pm #

    I could have saved you all the trouble and pain by suggesting that you hang out with hippies more often. They could have told you in a New York nano-minute that yoga or nearly anything that exerts unnecessary energy other than maybe guitar or bongo playing or toking up is basically a sham. Take it from someone who has the substantive bona fides of having spent quality time alone with prototypical hippie Richie Havens. Better to let your paint peel than have your skin bubble maaaaan. ;0)

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