Yuppydom, Here I Come, or how at least someone has a crush on me.

Dear Web Journal,

Yes, oh yes, it’s true. I think my yoga instructor has a crush on me. What’s that you say? Yoga instructor? That’s right. I go to a yoga class. In a gym. I have a membership to a gym. Which means I’m well on my way to being a yuppy. Don’t you dare judge me, youse bastards. It’s cheaper than facial reconstructive surgery.

But anyway, back to my instructor. I think she has a crush on me, I do. You know, it’s the little things that tell me. Like today, when she put her fingers under my arm pits. I mean, sure, she was helping me stand straighter, open up my chest, push my shoulder blades through my spine or some yoga-shit like that. But you really have to like someone to want to put your fingers in their armpits.

And then there was the time she came and rubbed my head while we were doing that relax thing that happens at the end of class. Maybe she rubbed other people’s temples too, but I sure didn’t see it happen. Because my eyes were closed.

Oh, and today she said, “Have a good week. See you next time”. Oh man, is she begging for it or what?

Eh? What’s that you say? Speak up there, Freud or Lacan, or whoever you are. I can’t hear you when you mumble. Wait a minute, YOU think that it’s actually ME that has the crush on HER? Cheeky monkey. It’s just a yoga class. It’s not like I look forward to it or anything. Or you know…um…leave me alone.

Love,
Rachael