It's only the second time in my life that a stranger has talked to me about my pelvis. The first time was 19 years ago, when Mark and I took a few months of yoga. For people who could put their legs over their heads--WHILE STANDING!--they were a surprisingly inflexible bunch, far too serious for me. I know I've mentioned the "Voluminous Farting Incident at Yoga" before, but, doggone it, farts are funny! And when a roomful of stretchers can't appreciate or even acknowledge the malodorous elephant in the room, well, they are NOT my people!
Anyway, the yoga instructor would say all kinds of things that, if Mark and I had been better students, probably were very useful. As it were, though, they mostly just cracked us up. Like that fart. That no one else "heard." Several times during each yoga session, the instructor would utter things like "unfurl your pelvis to the world" and, despite her best intentions, I never could make out what it was I was supposed to do.
Now, almost 20 years later, another stranger (who I happen to believe might think a public fart is funny) tells me that I thrust my pelvis forward when I walk. Like some lower-level evolutionary figure.
For the past three weeks, I've been doing my darnedest to push back my pelvis. Down, boy! I've also been stretching, lifting my arms into funny positions, blowing up acrid-tasting balloons and pinching them closed with my teeth and tongue. And I'm actually starting to feel better. Maybe even starting to carry myself better, too.
I'm not saying the second half of my life (yes, I'm an optimist, if not a tired and slightly apprehensive one) will be upstanding or that I will start to carry myself better when facing a public fart. But I do think I'll be a bit more comfortable in my own skin, slowly edging my way up the evolutionary scale towards full-blown homo erectus.
Homo. Erectus. Heh, heh, heh. That's funny!
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