My new water bottle

I’ve been doing this thing called “saving money”.  Have you ever tried it?  It’s not very much fun.  In fact, it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.  Possibly harder than childbirth.  But the cool thing about saving money is that the more you do it, the better you get at it.  Not spending money becomes a habit.  It’s true.  You should try it.  You even get a fun nickname —  a miser.


Since I’ve started working again, I’ve indulged in ONE purchase — a water bottle.  More specifically, an alkaline water bottle.  This means there’s a little device in the water bottle that turns ordinary tap water into yummy, mineralized life giving alkaline water.

Now this alkaline water bottle cost me SIXTY DOLLARS.  I know.  For a water bottle.  But I convinced myself it was good for my health and I bought it anyway.  And the water tastes DELICIOUS.  My kids love the water out of this water bottle so much they are always snatching it from me.  And of course, they want their own alkaline water bottle.  They keep asking and asking and I always say the same thing in a really condescending tone  —

“Sorry, but this is a SIXTY DOLLAR WATER bottle.  Only mommy can have it because Mommy is going to take really, really good care of it and never lose it.”

And then I lost it.

It all happened after work one day when I decided to take a “flying yoga” class.


It’s like regular yoga, but with a huge thing of fabric crammed up your ass.  Maybe I was addled from the flying yoga class, I don’t know, but after the class was over I staggered out the door and left my alkaline water bottle behind.

By the time I realized what happened I called the place, but everyone was gone.  I called the next day, no answer.  I emailed.  I texted.  No response.  I became angry.  At myself.  At the universe.  But most of all, at trendy exercise places that don’t answer the phone.  A day passed.   Another day.  My blood was boiling and every time I took a sip of regular water it was like acid in my mouth.  By the third day, I marched over to flying yoga.  I knocked on the door, but no one answered.  It wasn’t a glass door like most exercise places.  It was solid and it had no windows.  I couldn’t see at all what was happening inside.

So I just yanked the door open.

…. And there before me was a woman hanging in one of the fabric things.  But she wasn’t doing yoga.  She was dressed in a tiny, sequined bikini with stiletto heels and obviously practicing a stripper routine.  Clothes were scattered all over the floor.  I was clearly interrupting a VERY personal moment.  It was horrifying.

The music was so loud that she didn’t hear me come in.  If I just backed out of the door, she would have never known I’d seen her at all.  So I started creeping backwards, but something stopped me.  In the old days, I would have just bought another water bottle —  but that would be wasting money and god damn it, I’m a miser now.

So I stepped forward, cleared my throat and said —



Needless to say, I will never show my face at Flying yoga again.

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