I take another bite ofstrudel. “Go on.”
“Well, first of all,spa-ingisn’t a hobby.”
“It absolutely is,” I argue. “Self-care is an art form.”
She snorts. “Fine, I’ll allow it. But camping?”
I grimace. “Yeah, I’m regretting that one already. I was trying to push myself out of my comfort zone.”
“You hate the outdoors.”
“I strongly dislike the outdoors,” I correct. “Which is exactly why it’s on the list. Growth, Christa. It’s all about growth.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling now. “Alright, I’ll give you points for effort.”
I lean back in my chair, feeling smug. “See? I can survive without dating.”
Christa takes a slow sip of her coffee, watching me over the rim of her cup. “Sure. Let’s see how long that lasts with Hot Barista literally on your doorstep.”
I huff. “His name is Theo.” Yes, I may have checked out the name badge pinned to his waist coat. But I certainly didn’t fantasise over the fact on how fan-yourself-hot he looks in his crisp-white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
She grins. “Ohhh, so you were paying attention.”
I groan, covering my face with my hands.
“Don’t worry,” she says breezily. “If I weren’t happily engaged, I’d be all over him myself.”
I peek at her through my fingers. “But you are happily engaged. To a very large man who could break Theo in half.”
She sighs dreamily. “I am, aren’t I?”
I shake my head, laughing despite myself. “You’re the worst.”
She winks. “Nope. Just happily unavailable, which means he’s your problem now.”
I steal another glance at Theo.This is going to be the longest three months of my life.
Three days into my dating ban, I am lying flat on my living room floor, having a full-blown existential crisis.
It started off well enough. I was feeling motivated, determined. Like a woman on a mission to discover herself.
Which is why I find myself, on a Tuesday evening, in my best pair of supportive leggings, a comfy T-shirt and a sports bra that could double as industrial scaffolding, pressing play on a video titledYoga for Dummies.
I should have known. I should have known that even that is beyond my capabilities.
The instructor, a woman with a voice so serene it’s borderline hypnotic, begins by saying, “Welcome. We’ll start with some simple breathing exercises to centre ourselves.”
Alright. I can breathe. I can centre.
I sit cross-legged on my yoga mat, inhaling deeply through my nose like I’m an expert.
“This is called Ujjayi breathing,” she says, voice calm and steady. “Engage your diaphragm, feel your breath moving through you.”
Okay. Engage my diaphragm. Move my breath. Feel at one with—
I yawn.
Like, a big, dramatic, jaw-cracking yawn.
