Stuck in Downward Dog by Chantel Guertin

Author:Chantel Guertin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ECW Press
Published: 2013-08-08T00:00:00+00:00

chapter six

SIVANANDA: FISH POSE.

This position counters the plow position and stretches the chest.

Victoria refused to leave, but instead, three days later, she apologized by way of buying me a pair of Lululemon yoga capris—in a size 12, which I figured was her way of being spiteful despite her generosity. Part of me wanted to inform her that I wasn’t into yoga because it was trendy and I didn’t want her trendy pants, but once I tried them on (surprisingly, they fit perfectly, though I assumed that was just because they were stretch and even a size or two smaller would’ve fit just as well), I couldn’t give them back. They were so comfortable, and so flattering that they made me feel and look (I was sure of it) like a size 6. At least. So I accepted them and decided to forgive her, but mostly because she had also gone ahead with the lipo, and now had leg ooze. I felt that it was my chance to be the bigger person (morally, of course—Victoria’s presence ensured that I was always the bigger person physically).

At least when she was lying on the couch she couldn’t tell me what to do or pretend she was better than me. And she actually acted like she needed me. The leg ooze was freaking her out, and she wanted me to tell her that it was totally normal, which I did. In fact, most people got oozing when they got liposuction. Of course, it was technically called tumescent fluid leakage and, to be honest, it was disgusting, but I didn’t say that. Instead, I told her that it would go away soon and she would be lovely once again. I gave her a container of Caramel Cone Explosion ice cream, since she had stocked the fridge with spelt bread, sprouts, carrot juice and flaxseed oil, which hardly seemed like comfort food. I even gave her the bed, though during the day she moved out to the futon couch so she could, I presumed, watch me come and go.

Having her lying on the couch was good motivation to get me out of the house, because as much as I thought her being helpless would give me the upper hand, she was more demanding and judgmental when she didn’t have the ability to do anything else.

What was worse, she didn’t leave the following weekend, claiming she didn’t want the kids to see her in her “condition,” and although I felt there was another deeper underlying reason, I didn’t say anything because perhaps she had a point. It certainly wasn’t in her best interest as a mother to get their sympathy (or to scare them) with her self-inflicted surgery.

“Where are you going?” she asked, as I left the house for my second yoga class of the day on Saturday. “I haven’t had a cooked meal in days. Could you please make me something before you go? Anything. Some soup or maybe an omelet?”

I handed her a pizza flyer and the phone.

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