You'll all be thrilled to hear that I got my delayed myofascial massage from Jim this morning. Two massages in three days. Next we'll be calling me "Lance", huh? The only problem with that--and believe me, I do know two massages in three days should not allow anyone any room to bitch--is that I had to tip my comped massage *and* I had to tip Jim. So I spent a bit more money than planned. This will perhaps come in later in our story. Oooo, foreshadowing!
Anyway, one of the things Jim did when he was stretching my legs and mobilizing my hip flexors for me, was have me push against his resistance. "Engage your gluts," Jim says. "Like you're squatting." Oh, we're going there, are we? Okay. "Strong legs," Jim says. And I say, smirking, "I lift a lot of weights." Oh, I am such a douche. "Good for you!" Jim says with nary a trace of sarcasm. The ability to forgo sarcasm despite its almost overwhelming pull is quite useful in a gratuity-based profession, n'est pas?
I left with all my fascia ungunked and, since it was pouring rain and my feet were soaked to the ankle the minute I stepped foot outside and my hair was frizzing out to four times its normal volume, I figured there was no point in going home. Stay out and get even wetter! It seemed the thing to do. And thus I ended up (eventually) at the Pru, home to the temple, the shrine, of expensive yoga pants, Lululemon.
Now my friends all know that I frequently make jokes and bemoan the fact that apparently (if the omniscient google ads is correct, and god knows, they are omniscient) no matter how punk rock I see myself in my mind, I have actually turned into the kind of person who buys expensive yoga pants. But actually I don't. I buy the less expensive knockoffs of the Lululemon yoga pants from the Gap, which while not what one might actually call *inexpensive* can frequently be found on sale. I have been in the Lululemon store exactly twice before today. It kind of scares me.
But today I wandered in because I was in the neighborhood and I had heard that their sports bras are very good. I'm on the verge of needing a new one and my old one is no longer on sale at the place I bought it. On my way to the fitting room with my prospective new bra in hand, I pass by a rack of shorts. These shorts, to be exact.
These are the "biker groove short" and they cost $52. I take them into the dressing room to try on with the bra in some kind of momentary insanity. Because, sweet Mary mother a god, they are some kind of miracle short. I don't know what kind of engineering marvel is involved, but they suck in everything that should be sucked in, and push up everything that should be pushed up. They made me look the way I think I should look for how hard I work at the gym as opposed to how I actually do look, if that makes sense. So much so that I considered very very hard whether I wanted to buy them. $52 shorts. And here was my reasoning. I got back a rebate from Home Depot for $25 in the form of a Visa check card. I also this week got the $15 co-pay I paid my GYN's office back in February refunded to me for reasons that are not clear. So, if you think about it, that's $40 that's already been spent. That I wouldn't have missed if it hadn't arrived in my mail. I could buy those shorts and, y'know, it would really only be like paying $12. I managed to talk myself out of it. After all, I spent $35 in massage tips this weekend. So I'm only really $5 up.
Those of you who actually manage your money like adults can stop laughing now. Thanks!
When I got home and searched for them online so I could stick that picture in my post, I found that they ship for free. So now they're sitting in my cart. Probably I will empty it. Probably. But just imagine how much swagger those magical miracle pants would give me. I'd probably be all like this:
No? Too much? How about this then?
Just remember. No matter where you go, you are what you are, playa. (Even in expensive yoga pants.) Peace!