Happy...

To have at three-day weekend in front of me, to have plans for the evening, and that it has warmed up a little bit outside, so that one could maybe take a walk without sixteen layers of clothing.

I have been going to yoga a lot during this break from teaching. Two nights ago, Thursday, class was ending, or had ended, actually, but I was still coming out of the slowed-down mode of the last pose, shivasana, as the teacher put the lights on and the next group came pouring in, all eager to get started, getting their mats laid down as we were still putting ours away. As I was moving, dreamlike, to start folding up my purple mat, a guy appeared at my side and said, "You may as well just leave that there, I'll use it."

I looked up. He was very, very cute--dark-haired, tall, athletic, wearing a white T-shirt--and I immediately looked away again, flustered. I was faintly scandalized (and also titillated) that he wanted to use my mat. Even though I know that we all use each other's mats (those of us who don't bring our own), I always try to pull one from the bottom of the pile on the shelf, thinking that at least I won't be having an intimate experience with someone's recent sweat. But here was this guy (and, as I said, a very attractive guy) seemingly unbothered by that prospect. I tried to think of something to say. "Enjoy my sweat" seemed a little too suggestive, while "I didn't sweat too much" would be an out-and-out lie. I finally came out with, "Okay--have a ball," trying for a slightly ironic tone and shrugging my shoulders, still without looking at him. Then I asked, "Do you want the strap, too?" gesturing toward the purple strap, uncurled across the front of the mat where I sometimes use it under my hands to keep them from sliding. "Sure, sure," he said, now sounding a little constrained himself. I picked up the third block I keep near my mat, as a prop for my glasses and earrings during class. "This is an extra one, I'll put it away." "Thank you," he replied.

As I was leaving the room, I paused in the doorway to put my small silver hoops back in my ears. I glanced back toward him to find that he was looking at me.

Sigh.

Of course as I left the building I was feverishly planning my next move--switch yoga classes next week, go to the later one (inconveniently scheduled, wrong level for me, teacher I'm not so crazy about), track him down. With the clear light of day, though, those impulses pass.

Sometimes one has to let fleeting encounters be fleeting encounters. Or perhaps blog about them.