Thursday, 03 April 2003 | Store decision

I'd stopped by the store on my lunch break to pick up some conditioner, to replace my gigantic 8-month-old now-empty container of Aveda protein something-something. I wasn't distracted by the sampler cup of green tea being offered to me on a shiny platter (I declined) and headed straight for the rows filled with fat, opaque plastic. When the green tea guy approached me again and asked whether I wanted to participate in the yoga happening at the back of the store, I started to say no, but instead I heard the word "sure" come out of my mouth.

Seconds later, I was meeting two friendly women in their fifties who had slim bodies, perfectly painted orange toenails, and thick eye shadow. They were standing on thin blue mats, and, upon meeting me, they rolled out a third. I felt silly and awkward, sitting on mats in the middle of the store with these two women—world music playing through the speakers and employees having to step over us—me, in jeans and with my hair in my face. I looked around and noticed that no one else in the store seemed to think that it was absurd.

I wasn't a big fan of the breathing exercises; it made me anxious to think that hard about breathing, and I began to wish that breathing wasn't necessary at all. The stretching, however, was good: curving and reaching and twisting myself into positions with silly names like cobra and plank and downward-facing dog; every so often my body would sing like a bowl of Rice Krispies. When it was over 30 minutes later, I slipped back into my Converse, accepted a yoga pamphlet for their class, and almost walked out of the store without buying my bottle of conditioner.