Will the exercise never stop? God knows I want to tone up but is it necessary exercise slap me across the face at every turn? Bright and early Sunday morning, a client makes a Tai chi presentation. She’s speaking on wellness and self health. My mission is twofold: client support and to see said client in action. My PR should at least be true, non?
The morning of the seventh day is when a body should have coffee and yell at political shows. I’m up at the crack, sheath dressed and made up. It feels good ready to face the day so early on Pajama Sunday. Enough to haul my butt out of bed next week? We’ll see. Are we going out Saturday night?
The resort is beautiful; as they tend to be in The Dale. I meander my way past a sumptuous buffet set for retreat attendees, seriously pondering a croissant. After all, I’m just gonna sit in back and watch.
The room is chock full of people in matching shirts. My client sits next to a long table in front. I spy a chair that’s “just right” in the back, then swish to the front for a quick hello and a check if she needs anything. You wanna to be my client don’t you–checkin’ on you before I slink to the back of the room.
“Hello, doll. How are you this morning?” chirp I.
She’s in top form. Happy, calling on all her chakras; ready to dispense health and wellness throughout the land. Mid sentence, the organizer subtly steers me to a chair up front. Excuse me? I’m a back of the room sitter. I watch and observe.
Too late it turns out. Tai Chi waits for no man and I am plopped at the front round with eight strangers. Keep in mind, these people came armed for Tai Chi. They’re in comfy clothes, tennies and have that, “I work out in the morning” look about them.
Me: Navy blue sheath, no slit, pearls, pumps that lace up the back (so cute) and the latest collection of bangle bracelets for summer.
“Please stand next to your chairs. Arms up, deep breath in and above to the goddess.” I have no choice. Nothing if not a team player, right?
Raise my hands overhead fretting over the look from behind. Everyone dressed for the occasion paired with one dipshit right up front ready for a board meeting. “Left leg forward,” sort of lunge-y like, she instructs. The sheath, with no slit, does not budge. It’s stretchy but not Tai Chi stretchy.
I’m supposed to imagine a ball in my hands bringing health in and pain out. All the while, I’m wondering if the people behind me can see my thong. I do find I have better balance in heels than barefoot at yoga so there’s that.
The heels, however, leave me about seven feet taller than those surrounding me. Not only am I conspicuous in dress, but I swear the guy behind me says, “Who’s the giant?”
As with most holistic pursuits my brain has no emergency shut off. I figure if God wanted me to only notice breathing, he wouldn’t have given me the ability to find the best shoes in any room. I picked them early on. A much older woman, behind me. I see her on one of my bends. She’s rocking sparkly golden slide ons. There’s a girl who came prepared.
The Duchess Diaries 