So I know my pilates teacher can be a bit of a dingbat, but to her credit, she always works us the fuck out. I never leave there without sore abs to go along with the random story about her republican boyfriend. I have learned to love my crazy pilates teacher because today we had a substitute and I was reminded that it could be worse: the teacher could just suck. At first, I saw it was someone new and thought, oh hey we'll mix it up a little today. But no, there was no mixing. There was no anything, really. (I should have known nothing good could come of a class that starts with the instructor announcing she's also trained in "laughter yoga.")
There was the ten minutes we spent on some easy stretching, the five minute cool down from the stretching, the abs exercises that involved laying on your back and tightening your stomach muscles, the cool down from that, ten push-ups, a cool down, more abs involving laying on your back and slightly lifting your legs five times, aaaaand another cool down and some more stretching. I swear to god I would have thought I was in a geriatric sit and be fit class, except those people actually move their limbs occasionally.

I kept darting my eyes around the room trying to get someone to commiserate with me. I just needed one good eye roll or skeptical glance from someone to let me know that somebody else recognized that we would have gotten a better workout by walking a few blocks to Jamba Juice for lunch. But I couldn't get one squinty eye from anyone. Maybe the people in my class are robots. They were also unconcerned when, due to a fire alarm earlier in the building, little strobe lights were flashing everywhere last Wednesday. I was practically having a seizure on the floor and everyone else was like, "Lights? I guess there ARE some flashy lights, huh!" Robots.