Namaste, bitches! (Part Three)

I recently lost a bet and spent a month and a half at an ashram.

Every weekend rich ladies come to the ashram. They were perfectly botoxed and tucked so that no look of surprise or concern would ever cross their faces. They all look alike, with their weird paralyzed faces and fear of being over 40. But that’s not why I hated them.

I hated them because the monks couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. The monks are nice to everybody! They’re even nice to whining complaining bitches who show up to yoga in an ashram wearing pink velour sweats with “Juicy” on the patootie. (Or wearing Lululemon.)

They would bitch about the ashram not having hair dryers and then they’d bitch about the scratchy towels. I hated their loud, annoying Long Island and New Jersey voices as much as I hated the clenched whine of the Connecticut women.

Their gold “Ohm” necklaces snagged in their ridiculous earrings while they were in downward dog pose.

They would form cliques to make each other feel small and left out while they raced to enlightenment.

They showed up every weekend in a Prius and Lexus parade. And my stinky monk was just as nice to them as he was to me.

I learned something on those weekends:

Loathing the annoying will not make them less loathsome or annoying.

If you cannot stand someone, it’s only because you recognize something of them in yourself. Otherwise you wouldn’t care.

Lululemon is spendy, but I like it.