ow.

Marc had his first yoga class last night. Actually, it was "Yoga Fusion," whatever the hell that means. I think it means chaotic yoga, if you can picture that. I've never seen so many poses covered in a one-hour class. Instead of focusing on, well, anything, the instructor simply calls out a new pose about every five seconds. We went through some sun salutations at a reasonable pace, and then did some quick balancing and floor work. Yuck.

After class, in the car, I made an easily-misunderstood comment to Marc: "I couldn't look at you -- I was afraid I would start laughing." Sometimes I get all excited about the humor in a particular situation, at a time when humor is entirely inappropriate. I feel the blood boiling up in my face, my cheeks start twitching, and I can't, under any circumstances, make eye-contact with anyone who might be in a similar state, or I will totally lose it.

The earliest instance I can remember being afflicted like was at the peak of hormonal high school. I was riding in the backseat of my friend Chris' car after a homecoming dance. He had taken my other friend Heather, and the three of us were heading to TGI Friday's. I don't know how it came up, but here's the statement that set me off: "So, that's why the tip of my dad's nose is totally fake." I bit my lip and sat way, way back in my seat. A few minutes later, as the car was crossing the truss deck Patroon Island Bridge, I saw Heather's face in the sideview mirror. Her jaw was clenched, and there was a single tear running down her cheek. She saw me looking at her, and we burst into hysterical, unstoppable laughter simultaneously. When we regained control, Heather told Chris I kicked her seat.