Wherein the Matron Gets Her Seinfeld On . . .

You were warned.  If you pettiness gives you cause to recoil, do so now or walk away.

For the Matron is whining about last week's wrestling match yoga class with Mr. Heave, Grunt, Rattle, & Roll.    She can take the grunts. The groans. The heaving with whistle and chur, and this in a space where there's supposed to be silence. Look! Here is the Matron, all stoic, when Mr. Heave, Grunt, Rattle & Roll falls out of a posture and tumbles his 6 foot self onto her mat, nearly knocking her MUCH tinier self right over. Here is the Matron, all saint-like, when Mr. HGRR -- who if you haven't yet noticed is COMPLETELY unaware of his surroundings and anything remotely akin to personal space --- shakes his jowels like a dog so that his spit and sweat can spatter the delicate skin of yours truly.

Ugh!

But then . . . in the most shocking and unacceptable turn of events . . . Mr. HGRR sops up his sweat with a steaming, soaking towel which he promptly tosses onto The MATRON'S MAT!

For folks who've never been to a yoga class -- that mat is sacred space. Your space. The universe. Nobody in the Matron's 20 years (that's right!) of committed yoga practice has used her mat as a laundry baset, let alone put a toe on it. Until last week.

Of course, yours truly pointedly picked up said disgusting item --- with her FOOT (because she was laying down) and HURLED it sideways. Which turned out to be highly conveniently for HGRR because now the towel was resituated right next to him, making it just that easy to swipe more sweat and, yes, send it right back -- splat-- to the middle of the Matron's mat again.

Here's where the situation took a turn for the juvenile, wherein she HURLS the towel back -- with any body part other than a hand --and tosses the death glare, but of course: Mr. HGRR doesn't notice. He's just all like - "oh, reach down and there's that towel again" -- as if it's perfectly natural. Just. The scheme of things.

. .
At one point, Matronly rage simmers into marvel. Wow. How is it possible to be so absolutely clueless to anyone or anything around you?

Next week, she's bringing a whistle.

Men Taking Up Too Much Space on the Train