Disclaimer: if you’re at all sensitive about bodily functions, please avert your eyes…NOW.
Right, for the rest of you; I’ve got a confession and it ain’t pretty, so prepare yourselves.Â This is probably one of those things best kept to myself but I’m so EXCRUTIATINGLY embarrassed about it that I feel I need to share.
Sorry in advance.Â Please promise me you won’t look at me any differently after I tell you this?Â Actually, on second thoughts, I’m leaving the country and never coming back, so we won’t have to worry about that.
OK, here goes *deep breath* Right, I’m going to tell you.Â Please don’t judge me.
I went to yoga last night.Â About halfway through we were askedÂ to arch our backs off the floor and put down our spines ‘vertebrae by vertebrae’.Â On my way down from the last one, drawing in my pelvic floor like a good girl and concentrating on my breathing, I experienced a sort of internal ‘pop’, akin to when my waters broke with Max.
It was a weird sensation but it didn’t hurt, so I continued the movement, un-phased.Â When I’d finished, I slowly manoeuvred onto my knees and as I put one leg forward to push up off one foot, the trapped air that had apparently built up in my ‘front bum’ chose that moment to escape.
That’s right, people; to put it less delicately, I had just ‘fanny farted.’Â Loudly. In front of lots of people in a high-ceiled room with very good acoustics.Â I know.Â The shame.
I’d like to say it only happened once and I could have excused it as a ‘normal’ fart, which under the circumstances would have been much less embarrassing. But no, this was the gift that kept on giving, even with the tiniest of movements.
THREE TIMES.Â I fanny farted, in the middle of a yoga class, THREE TIMES.
The polite fellow yoga-goers didn’t so much as bat an eyelid during their ‘Downward Dogs’, but IÂ knew people had heard.Â They couldn’t have avoided hearing it.Â It had echoed, ricocheting off the walls.Â I wanted to pretend it wasn’t me.Â But they KNEW.
‘Let’s do the Warrior!’ the Yoga instructor announced enthusiastically.Â Let’s f***ing not, I thought, knowing that the move involvesÂ the potentially disastrous combination ofÂ placing legs akimbo and then bending and stretching to the side.
‘OK, now put the left leg down and STRRRRETCH your right leg into the air.’Â You’ve GOT to be kidding me.Â Do I have to?
‘Relax and concentrate on your breathing.’Â Relax?Â Relax?Â Did you not just hear that?Â My fanny couldn’t possibly BE any more relaxed.Â It just exhaled of its own accord!
‘OK, and gently rock backwards and forwards, gently massaging your tailbone.’Â F***ing hell, it’s going to turn into a symphony.Â I’ll be on ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ next year as the woman who can play tunes through her fanny.
I don’t WANT that to be my talent!
‘OK, it’s time for relaxation.’Â ThankÂ f*** for that, no more moving.
‘Just concentrate on your body, in this room, here and now.Â We’ve all got worries and troubles but we’re going to let them meltÂ away.’
Easier said than done, my friend.Â Show me one other person that’s just trumpeted through her vagina in a completely silent room in the company of strangers.Â Right.Â SoÂ don’t talk toÂ ME about worries and troubles… 🙂
Included as part of the lovely Actually Mummy’s ‘Wot So Funee?’ linky.Tags: 'Wot So Funee?', Britain's Got Talent, Embarrassing Bodies, fanny fart, humour