The Queen

I do not live in a monarchy but if I did, I already know what role I would fulfill.  I would be queen.

I know this because years ago I was given a crown of gold....by my dentist.  Well, technically I paid for it.  (We all know that even the best health insurance will only cover a small portion of the cost of dental restoration.)  But let's not quibble!  The point here is that I possess a golden crown and I never even take it off (like some other queens who will remain nameless.)  I wear my crown 24/7. 

As a rule, people never notice my crown because it's way in the back of my mouth.  It would be easy enough to show off and point it out but I don't.  I don't have to.  I know I'm a queen whether anyone else realizes it or not.  On days when I'm feeling especially regal and want the whole world to see it, I wear my tiara.  Most of the time though, I just live my life as a queen incognito. 

I have been living the dream now for many years; I don't brag about it though because that wouldn't behoove a queen.  We queens don't need to brag.  Being a queen is enough in and of itself.

For years my husband has led a happy and productive life as a prince consort ~ or so I thought.  Lately I have become suspicious.  I've noticed that he's been going to the dentist a lot these past weeks.  In my innocence, I thought that he'd already met his yearly deductible and wanted to max out his dental benefits before 2012 ended.  That seemed like a fiscally prudent thing to do, right? Then yesterday - just two days into the new year -he went to the dentist and came home with his own crown.  Is he attempting a coup?

He says that this crown is only temporary and that he waited until 2013 to get it because insurance will pay more toward it.  I'm not sure. What if this is just an ingenious cover story?  I'm keeping my eye on him.  In a couple of weeks he'll get his permanent crown and then the world will see if it's gold or if it's an ordinary white one (which, in my mind, befits the station of a prince consort.) 

Until then I'm on high alert.  He's going to have to taste all my food before I eat it and if I catch him trying on my tiara when he thinks I'm not looking, mark my words: there will be hell to pay.

Yoga, Revisited

On Tuesday and Thursday mornings I get on an elevator, descend into Hell, meet Satan's Mistress, and pay actual American currency for the privilege of attending her "Deep Stretch Yoga Class."


Deep Stretch Yoga is code for "Yoga for Old Ladies" and it focuses on flexibility and balance. I've never been particularly flexible and not even a stranger would mistake me for someone who was well-balanced, so this class is a good fit for me.


Today when I arrived in the studio, I noticed two chairs sitting sideways against the wall. Miss Mary Ann was feeling particularly feisty and had decided that today was the day we were going to stretch our trapezius muscles, doing a pose called the "fountain of youth."


I'm all for youth -- I even dimly recall being one once -- but had sincere reservations about this Cirque du Soliel move which consisted of suspending oneself with the head wedged between two chairs in what amounted to a headstand in midair.


Although I'm pretty sure that I verbalized my concerns, no one paid much attention to my pitiful whimperings and that is how I found myself in the aforementioned position and then, to add insult to injury, they took pictures of me.

If we're going to continue to do these types of moves - especially if I'm going to be photographed - I'm going to have to insist that we wear glittery outfits made of sequins and feathers, perhaps with the addition of a small, tasteful tutu.  In pink or turquoise.  Would a tiny tiara be asking too much?


People ask me why I return to yoga week after week when I make no secret of the fact that I don't enjoy this form of exercise one little bit. The answer is simple. I spend a lot of my time hunched over a computer and my neck and shoulders get tight and sore from it.


As much as I hate to admit it, I feel better after I leave yoga class.