Body

Originally written September, 2013. Republished now with minor changes because it’s still so relevant. In fact, she and I still fight at yoga.

Frequently.

She and I got into a fight at yoga yesterday.

The instructor told the class to do this horrible toe-crunching thing and she was like, “I hate this. Stop.”

And I was like, “Cram it. You and I have been together for decades, and I take you to the gym a few times a week even though neither of us want to, specifically so that you can be awesome. Suck it up and do this toe thing.”

And she was like, “This hurts.”

And I was like, “It’s good for you.”

And then the instructor finally showed both of us some mercy and sent us into downward-facing dog.

The more I age, the more I feel like Krang from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Despite the fact that I’ve been connected to this defiant little chassis for 37 years now, I still sometimes have trouble manipulating her. She does things like sprout random grey hairs, or her boobs will change size or shape overnight for no reason. I tell her to do 99 percent of the things she does, so when she does things without my permission, it’s particularly unsettling. She’s like a teenager who was my baby for so long, who needed me to do anything so far in life, and now she wants to…