They call me Masochist Marge

Or they ought to.

DDFF hurt me last night. 

OH MY MARGARINE, she hurt me. 

 

And I loved it. 

And I want her to do it again. 

Today.

Twice.

 

I gotta say, I've always been a yoga girl.  A little (okay, very little) Pilates here and there thrown in for good measure, but mostly for me, it's been yoga = yummy.  I can bend and fold and stretch with the best of them and can put myself into all sorts of strange contorted positions and my body reflects it and I say, "Thank you, body, for responding well."  I feel graceful and elegant and feminine and light when I do yoga ... not so much with the Pilates and Bellydance.

 

Nope, no gazelle like action for me last night.  To be frank, I felt a little like Olive from Little Miss Sunshine (if you haven't seen it, for the love of all things chocolate, go right now and watch it already.)  You know, sort of out of place, not exactly the ripest banana in the bunch, but having fun, doing my best, and shaking my groove thang as much as possible.  Maude, let me tell you, I moved parts of my body that hadn't moved on purpose in years.  I used muscles that I forgot I had and, believe me, I can tell this morning.  YEOWCH!

 

But I loved it.  I loved every sweaty, stretchy, pulsating, quivering, shaking, swearing under my breath, vowing to punch DDFF in the nose at the next chance I got, promising myself that I *will* bitch slap my upper abs into shape second of both classes.  Yep.  And I'm going back for more next Wednesday.

 

Unless she wants to hurt me again before that.