Keep the mouse in the barn...

I've been sick this week, but I've managed a little yoga.

Today was my first class in awhile. I was focused inward, my mind was quiet, I had a great session and hardly noticed anyone around me.

At the end of class, the instructor said, there's no easy way to say this, but for the gentlemen in the room (of which there were three), please keep the mouse in the barn.

There was a murmur across the studio floor, I hadn't heard what she said, and I guess others hadn't either, because she repeated it.

There was silence and folks started rolling up their mats. I had no idea what she said, but I knew there was a one in three chance she was talking to me. Had I checked out some girls boobs inadvertently, had I farted, or did I have excessive BO? I didn't know.

In the hall I asked a friend of mine, a woman in her early sixties. She laughed. "The guy across the way," she said, "his balls were hanging out when we were in shoulder stand."

The mouse in the barn.

I was just relieved it had nothing to do with me.