Lately I've been eating a lot of oatmeal (the chunky steelcut kind) with dried fruit like cranberries and apricots, a drizzle of honey and a splash of milk. Or I'll have a big bowl of granola with dried cranberries or raisins and bananas. All of which has been hitting the proverbial spot so much so that I look forward to breakfast when I fall asleep at night.
So here I am, happily eating my way through the week. A little dried fruit here, a little more here, and a little more there.
Well, did your mom ever tell you not to eat too much dried fruit when you were little?
So come Wednesday, there I am focusing my attention on my breath. Standing in mountain pose, completely relaxed when all of the sudden...
I farted.
oh no.
I farted in yoga class.
The one place on earth where everyone's ears are piqued to the max and there isn't another sound except maybe some soft music and deep breathing.
And I had to be the first one to let one slip.
oh the humanity.
oh the shame.
Will I be ridiculed? Will I be dubbed an outcast? Will I be banned from the studio?
Luckily, my class consists of adults. Not only that but adult women, who, historically speaking, are not known for their mockery or ridicule.
I think I'll live.
Needless to say I have cut back on my dried fruit ingestion and my, um, digestion has quieted back down.
Important note to self: enjoy everything in moderation.
xo
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