My Mat is Hatching!

A few months ago, I explained to my mother that I needed to buy a new yoga mat, to which she gleefully responded, “No, no, no. You don’t need to do that. I have one in the garage you can have. It’s brand new. I only used it one time when your father and I went to that yoga class together. We got down on the floor and almost never got back up again. You know I can’t do that yoga.”

As my mother maintains a garage so pristinely clean, you can eat off the floor, I was not the least bit apprehensive accepting this generous gift. Shortly thereafter, I went to an ashtanga class with my friend, Lindsey. I proudly rolled out the mat my mother had so graciously bestowed upon me and began the practice. I noticed a few black spots on the sides of the mat before the first sun salutations, but didn’t give it much thought.

During my third downward dog, however, I noticed one of the black spots moving in my peripheral vision. “Surely, that’s my imagination,” I thought, and continued with my practice.

Then, while engaged in another inverted pose, I noticed that the black spots were more bulbous and rounded and that two little insects were crawling out of them. Soon, one insect after another began to appear until there were about 10 of them. These seemingly innocuous black spots weren’t spots at all; they were little cocoons! My mother’s immaculate garage had spawned tiny insects, which I had now unleashed on a room full of about 30 unsuspecting yoga practitioners. At any moment, the hatchlings could bring the entire room toppling to the ground. One scream would be enough to bring down even the most experienced and centered yogi. As my eyes marveled in amazement, a handful of tiny creatures marched from my mat and began their journey across the room.

“Psssst!” I called to Lindsey.

When she looked at me, I motioned my eyes downward and jerked my head toward the bugs on the floor.

“What?” she silently mouthed.

“My mat,” I mouthed back, “is hatching.”

She almost fell over with silent laughter. Neither one of us wanted to disturb our fellow practitioners. As we transitioned to the seated positions, Lindsey, eyes wide and desperate, mouthed, “What are you going to do?”

What could I do? With my free hand, I pushed all of the bugs together in a little pile and noticed that the woman next to me had placed her shirt at the end of her mat. When she wasn’t looking, I stealthily clutched her shirt and slowly dragged it on top of the little bugs. “They’ll be safe and hidden under there,” I thought.

I then glanced over at Lindsey, who shrugged and returned a, “Hey, you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do,” kind of look as we proceeded with our pose. As long as the shirt didn’t start walking itself across the room, I knew I had a quick fix on my hands. And, I figured, once the woman picked up her shirt at the end of the practice, all of the bugs would fall out and no harm done, which is precisely what happened.

Disclaimer: The contents of this story are true. No insects, humans, or shirts were harmed. Do not try this at home, in a yoga studio, or in an ashram (or otherwise). Hatching bugs are not recommended as a part of one’s regular yoga practice. If a certain pose bugs you, just remember this story, relax, and get over it.