In a turn of events, Lauren says that this workout isn’t that bad. Oh fuck, hang on—
“It’s only a beginner’s yoga class, and I was really flexible when I was like 5, so this should be a piece of cake,” the Brooklyn resident stated as she competently held tree pose. Oh damn, there’s sweat coming out of her vagina.
Lauren stated that despite the instructor’s warning not to eat anything heavy before the class, she didn’t think the leftover three patty BBQ whopper she scarfed down while running out the door would be “much of a problem.”
“These people are all amateurs anyway,” she continued while sliding into tree pose, her face the color of a fucking heirloom tomato.
“Maybe she needs a water break?” said Mary Kellen, who attends the class a few times a month when it lines up with her son’s Little League practice. “I don’t know her so I feel weird saying something, but boy does she look like she’s struggling.”
When we caught up with Lauren a few minutes later — holy fucking guacamole, she shat her pants.
“I take back everything I said before,” she gasped, her face contorted with pain as she attempted to wrestle her legs into a pretzel. Her classmates looked on from behind their pretzeled legs in concern as Lauren’s sweat puddle slowly creeped closer to them. What a fucking disaster.
“I’m fine, really!” The obvious hot mess express yelled as she fell forward out of fucking awful headstand, hitting the woman in front of her and creating a domino effect throughout the rest of the room.
Lauren was reportedly asked politely to get the fuck out and demoted to a children’s beginnger class.
“It’s a shame because that triple patty whopper was super expensive,” Lauren said as she exited the bathroom, wiping her face and pretending that everything was peachy and she hadn’t just emptied her guts into the fucking toilet.