Yesterday Una and I had our weekly evening trivia game (which now has the added perk of our favorite bartender, Dan, bringing candy or baked good snacks for the pregnant lady! Next week's promise? Cookies.). But before we headed to Whiskey Bar, scene of the usual crime (whiskey for Una and a double water with a lime for me), I tried out a prenatal yoga class I had scored through Groupon.
Oh, and why do I do this to myself?
'Hey, prenatal yoga - you and your soft, cheesy music, easy stretches, and poses even an unborn baby can do, I'll barely drop a bead of sweat.'
Wrong.
Try ropes dangling me off the wall, wooden blocks, folding chairs and one pose wherein I stood on my head, legs against the wall, arms gripping the side rails of said metal chair. I uttered barely a word, snuck out as soon as class was over and vowed never to return. (Bonus to the evening? The 34-weeks-pregnant woman one mat over who housed me in every pose. And no, she was no 110-pound-wannabe yogi; woman was nearing the deuce mark and looked like baby was due yesterday.)
I picked Una up in a less than savory mood and we headed into trivia as my back slowly began to ache. Kicker to the evening? Una and I walking back to the Prius to discover someone - who will remain nameless - ahem, Una - had left the car on. Running. Interior and exterior lights on, engine plugging along. For 1 hour and 45 minutes.
Oh, the joys of an electric car.
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