OK, like I said, Tuesday morning, 9am. Yoga class. At the yoga studio.

Yea, so I get there, bleary eyed, resentful, having just swabbed my teeth with a baby wipe from the container in the back seat, and there are noooooo cars in the parking lot.

OH NO HE DI-UNT! I thought for one fleeting second that my husband tricked me on purpose, knowing full well there was no yoga class on Tuesday morning, 9am. While that would be edgy even for him, it is exactly the kind of thing we do to each other, then laugh about for years. Alas, the class schedule on our bulletin board was old, and there hasn't been a Tuesday morning class since spring.

Undeterred, I repeat, WEEKLY YOGA. I'm going. To the studio. To the damn class. No, really.