The Yoga-Boob Conundrum

I love yoga. I’m not great at it, but that doesn't stop me from doing it as often as possible. Sometimes at a cool, gently scented studio, surrounded by lululemon zombies and other times when I’m drunk at a friend's apartment.

Sample scenario:

Friend: Hey there, buddy. You, uh. You bustin’ out a little tree pose there?

Tree- Erin: Yup.

Just call me TreeBeer'd. TREEBEER'D, geddit? Nevermind. Gah.

Sample scenario #2:

Me: Hey, you guys, I’m gonna teach y’all how to do shoulder stand! It’s like a headstand, but with your shoulders! Just—hey, will you just hold my skirt? Will you hold my skirt so it doesn't fall down? Hold my skirt. Cause I’m gonna put my legs over my head now and I don't want you to see my panties. Am I wearing panties? Lemme check. Okay, yes I am, but I still don't want everybody to see them. Are you holding it? Are you holding my skirt? Okay. 

Yeah...they saw my panties, didn't they?

               

Shoulder stand is actually one of my favorite poses, because you have to go through plow pose to get there, and if you have never had this happen before, getting mascara on your inner thigh is a thrill, let me tell you.

Yoga is great. It is great for relaxation, for strength, for fighting depression. One thing yoga is not good for? 

Boobs. 

Yeah. Titties. Jugs. Melons. Bazoombas. Yoga turns these guys into assassins, constantly trying to suffocate their host bodies with themselves. Gravity is their accomplice, particularly when you're doing an inversion (an upside-down pose). They basically try and race each other to the floor.

 Many a time, a yoga instructor has exhorted me to “let your head drop,” when I’m in Downward Facing Dog and I don’t say anything because I’m concentrating on breathing like Darth Vader, but I want to say “Look, honey, I want to release the tension from my neck, but if I do that, I’m going to be motorboating myself.” This is why actual dogs keep their breasts a safe distance from their breathing apparatus.

These bitches have it made.

The other big one is Child’s pose, meant to be a calming, comfortable pose you take when you just can’t make another Chaturanga happen and you need a minute to breathe. Except PSYCH! Not with big boobs. With these not-so-funbags attached to my chest, I’m not chilling out and reconnecting with my breath, I’m like “haaaughhrrglle…I can’t breathe!” Also, your face is covered in boob sweat. You’re welcome for that visual.

Hey, what do you call a pair of sweaty boobs?

Beeeeeewwwwwwwwbs!

...I'll show myself out.

In addition to being dicks about breathing, boobs have another drawback in yoga. A usual flow class involves many vinyasas, when you lower yourself to the floor and then slide forward with your chest opening to the ceiling. A delicious back bend for sinewy yoga types, for me it’s time for my twins to make a VALIANT ESCAPE ATTEMPT. They sense freedom is close and they LEAP. So I’m constantly having to shimmy them back into my traumatized sports bra, and look furtively around the room to make sure no one saw any nip. At this point, my yoga bra has just given up on life and boob restraint. I’ve had people suggest that I double up on the brassieres, but do I look like I am made of sports bras people?

I highly suggest you do a Google Image Search for "dogs doing yoga" it is worth your time.

So friends, if you are a member of the itty bitty titty committee, you should def give yoga a shot. You were born for it. And also for most of the mass-produced clothing in the world. And my curvier ladies...you should also come to a yoga class with me, but bring a tank of oxygen. In case of boob suffocation.

Authoress's note: I am only an amateur yogi, so please excuse any misspellings/capitalization errors. If you point one out, all it'll do is make you look like a pedant. 

And nobody is a pedant-phile.

So I Went To See The Avengers

So, I just saw The Avengers: Age of Ultron and I was a little upset about something. If you know me and you saw the movie, you probably have an idea of what it was.
The black widow tells Bruce Banner that they are perfect for each other because neither of them can have children. Because she was ritually sterilized as part of her assassin training.

Because bebbehs slowly you down. NO SERIOUSLY.

I find the whole sterilization trope to be just as annoying as its inverse, the magical pregnancy trope. Both are thematically pretty rapey.

They did a similar thing on Doctor Who, which is the love of my life, but I didn't mind it (clearly I'm biased). I thought (as a woman with fertility issues) that the infertile character's reaction was valid: she (Amy Pond) felt that her femininity was invalidated and by no longer having a viable uterus she was no longer good enough for her husband. Is it lazy writing, somewhat. Does it accurately represent a possible emotional reaction? Yes. It is hard to express to men how many factors there are constantly waiting to tell you that you're not a "real woman" and infertility is a biggie. If you can't bake a bun in your oven, why even call yourself a woman? In the Who storyline, there was a positive message to be taken from a shitty situation (one that many women find themselves in) when Amy's husband declares that he knew she was infertile and he didn't care. She was worth more to him as a person than just a baby making oven. And we women need to believe that those men exist in order to ever stop drinking.

I honestly don't know why they thought this tripe (this was a typo, I meant to say "trope," but you know, it holds up so I'm leaving it was necessary for the Black Widow. But more importantly, they missed an opportunity to make that moment about a woman's agency and not about something that was done to her. You mean to tell me Natasha Romanoff would ever be happy settling down with Banner and a little green-skinned, Crimson haired brood (tiny baby Christmas hulks do sound adorable)? That is definitely not how I read that character.

Would it have killed noted ambivalent pseudo-feminist Joss Whedon to actually give his strong female character a mind of her own beyond MUST HAVE BABBY. OH NO I CANT. BETTER BANG BANNER. The one man she can't disappoint with her barrenness.

I find it much more ick than the boneheaded comments made by frat boys Chris Evans and Jeremy Renner that got lots of tongues wagging during the press tour. Though Renner's casual implication that differently-abled women are laughably unfit for the touch of a man (fuck you, dude) deserved more noise and a better apology.

I'm certainly not suggesting that anybody not go see The Avengers, hell, I'm probably going to see it twice. But damn, I am bored with this trope. Not all women have the exact same uterus feels, and if brave, smart writers would let their characters actually make choices, I think those characters could take us to amazing places.