I took a new yoga class this morning with a great down-to-earth lady. From the start you can tell that she's kind and gets the job done, but she makes no promises of nirvana, unless that's what you call a good, solid stretch and some hearty ab work. So imagine my surprise when, as we lay in shavasana at the end of class, flat on our backs, eyes closed, I noticed a divine scent wafting past me. "Aromatherapy is a lovely touch," I thought. "I sure underestimated her."
What is that?
An exotic flower from the Himalayas?
I opened one eye to catch a glimpse of this ancient mystical ritual, and saw her bowing in the corner, silhouetted by a beam of sunlight, disinfecting mats with a spray bottle. Apparently she had to sign some real estate papers right after class so she was getting a jump on the cleanup.
Take me to heaven, Lysol!
My name is Nasreen. I write micro essays, one-liners, and other small things. Most of them were funny at some point, at least to me.