I was ready for my close-up.

I've been going to yoga twice a week for a few weeks now.  Yay me.  It's a lovely contrast to the accursed pilates, which remains of the devil.  Last Tuesday, our instructor told us that a photographer from the paper was coming by today, doing some story on...oh who cares?  FAME!  I've never been an athelete, I was picked second-to-last for pretty much every team ever.  But yoga I can do.  I'm not all that flexible through the hamstrings, but I'm pretty flexible in hips and shoulders, and I have a good sense of balance.  So I can make most poses look pretty good.  AND I had just ordered swank new yoga duds.  I was totally going to rock that photo session.  I would bring it.  I would be FIERCE.

But the yoga duds didn't come.  I had to wear my usual jammie pants-and-bra cami combo.  Baggy about the bum, saggy about the boob.  Mr. Photographer dude did show, though, and he took many pictures in our class.  We did triangle and warrior poses, at which I excell.  No one would even notice my baggy rear because I was clearly so very strong and serene.  At the end of class, as we lay in relaxation, my mind raced, thinking of things I could say to the reporter so that I wouldn't sound like a total doofus.  I'd come off hip, kind of funny but totally yogic and awesome.  An inspiration to mothers everywhere.  Class ends, we're rolling up our mats, Picture Guy starts asking names from some of the women.  He walked. right. past.  He did not care to know my name.  He was featuring the totally buff chick with the Dorothy Hamill haircut and swank yoga duds.  And he was getting the name of the hippie looking chick with the dark rims and tie dyed shirt.  Hmpf.  I bet they said stupid stuff.  Totally uninspiring.  Another opportunity lost by the stupid Frederick News Post.  Hmpf, I say.