Another Saturday Night

The Holidays are almost upon us.
And I have a massive, hemorrhaging crush on a yoga instructor.
Needless to say, he doesn't know this.
Also, quite crucial to say, he teaches one class and not at the place where you think I am thinking of.
He's at my "secret studio", the one I go to when I'm too poor to go to Darrin's Torture Chamber.
He teaches Hot Room yoga and honestly, as far as I'm concerned, he doesn't even need to crank the heat in there, once he's set up his mat and everything.
That action alone is hot like a glue gun.

It's been a brewing crush, not a microwave one. I've been to his class a couple of times before and thought that he's a good enough looking kid but he never like, made my head turn.
Until now.
Here's the song that I've been singing about him:
"O' holy crush,
the stars were not yet shin-ing
when I got
to the

I was the only one
until right at five thir-ty
And my heart, I sank, just a bit.

But you came to fix
my dancer pose so nicely
Which was weird
'cuz I know
that it's good.

O' holy crush
I whispered under my breath
when you moved
my knees to the right
I love you.
I honestly love you."

That's my song.
It's a holiday/lite rock combo piece. But oh man, I can't wait for Saturday next week. I have 6 days to research this kid.
Or not. Nobody that I know knows him, which means he's probably some kind of lady-killer athlete at the U of A, or he's on the fringe of the Yoga Gang, like me.
His skin is nicely colored, so I know he's not a vegan. He's not too big, not to small, not too tall and he shops at the mall (I bet). Well, okay, I take that last one back.

So yeah: Crush.
I get to yoga and I am freshly showered and I have a zit the size of Montana trying to break the surface. I've got on my dorkiest clothes ever because I need to do laundry in the worst way and I just haven't felt like doing it. I also haven't done and yoga classes in awhile because of the state of affairs in my finance department.
I'm the only one and it's like, five minutes until class starts.
I am actually panicking at this point because I am going to have to make a choice:
1. Walk out on a chance to spend an hour at the mercy of this pretty, pretty man, or,
2. Have to spend an hour with this pretty, pretty man doing advanced hot room shit that I don't even really love but that is really really good from a physically difficult aspect.

I offered both, to make my suffering that much greater. Some deep Valley Girl drawl rose up from inside me and blurted, "You know, you can cancel class if it's just me." As soon as I said it, I felt like the fat side-kick from Central Casting, about to win the heart of a tender, but smokin' hot stranger. I went on, "I do lots of Anusara but not much hot room yoga and I haven't done any classes in at least two weeks."
He asked me if I was sure and then changed his mind, reminding me that I probably needed to do some yoga, then.
That's when my calculations of his cute-factors stopped and my untrust-worthy heart took over.
He wasn't pretentious or yogi-dorky, or anything when he said that.
In fact, he was
This hasn't happened in too long.
The kid, whoever he is outside that studio, was hot. He's not an average-looking fellow.
And he's flirting
Stop the presses, people. Stone-cold sober, Saturday evening, sweaty, wet-hair, dorky, Factory-2-You Gloria Vanderbilt sweats about 2 sizes too big at this point...
He kept kind of looking over at me and he stumbled a little on his words while trying to turn up the heat for the hot room yoga.
three other people came in the room for class and in my head, I'm all, "WHEW. THAT was CLOSE." Then, half a second later, "Dammit. I could have done yoga with him. One-on-one instruction, and with flirting. Idiot! How could I have wished for more people to show up? Gah!
Oh yeah. Because 41 seconds ago, I was thinking that I hadn't lost some weight and that I was a walking zit, rather than a lovely lady with a zit, walking. Into this classroom. Now, having checked out every, single possible angle in the surround-sound mirrors of the room, things are not looking so 31, you know?
So, the Hindi band played on and I did some yoga and you know that feeling of when someone keeps an eye on you, a special eye? The kind that says, "Who are you, delightful lady?" You know that feeling.
I got that for an hour.
So he made a couple of adjustments, which is par for a yoga class and honestly, at one point, I'm on my back, with my knees pulled up to my chest, in what might be called double wind relieving pose and he comes over and presses on my shins for a heavenly eternity. You think I'm going to say that I farted or something.
I didn't.
I almost fell out when he smiled down at me, though. And then as he moved away to the front of the room, I whispered, "I love you." There's no way he heard me but I swear to you that for the rest of class, that special eye was eye-balling me and I am such a nerd that I took my little secret crush on him and went running out of the studio when class was over. I sat in my Bitchin' Honda, cooling off and wondering why I had RUN out of that room and trying to think of how to get back in and what to say and ohmigawd.

But instead, I thought about how fun a crush is, how unknown and secret and not-disappointing and I went to Wendy's and got a baked potato and had dinner with my strangely farty dog.

It was one of the best Saturday nights, ever.
I'm already preparing for class next Saturday night.

arizonasarah at 11:02 a.m.

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