Yoga Husband: Honey? H-o-n-e-y? The yoga tights on top of the dresser… can I put them in the laundry hamper?

Yoga Wife: They’re not dirty.

Yoga Husband: Are you sure? They smell like a sailor farted on them.

Yoga Wife: That’s… normal.

Yoga Husband: Jeez… you need to pour some bleach on that thing… There’s enough bacteria here to ferment a keg of beer.

Yoga Wife: Funny. You should write a blog.

Yoga Husband: So let me ask you this – if they’re not dirty why are they here and not in the closet?

Yoga Wife: Because.

Yoga Husband: Because what?

Yoga Wife: Because there’s no room in the closet.

Yoga Husband: Easy peasy. I’ll find you some roo… Holy Fucking Krishna! There’s at least 20 pairs of yoga tights in here. Hold on. Let me count them. 21, 22, 23, 24. 24! And that doesn’t even include the ones on the dresser and the dirty ones in the hamper!

Yoga Wife: And the ones drying on the rack!

Yoga Husband: Whoa. Is this normal? I mean, why do you have so many? Are you working them so hard you need to throw a second pair on mid-class? At the end of a class, do you take your tights off and swing them at your students like a rock star? Do you have different kinds of tights for different occasions – like, I don’t know, formal tights for funerals?

Yoga Wife: Yoga tights are my uniform.

Yoga Husband: Listen – I totally understand that your weird religion requires you to wear uniform, and, believe me, I’m glad it’s tights and not a fur hat, but when do you stop? How do you know you have enough ‘uniforms’? Is it not reasonable to think that when you run out of space in the closet you’ve gone too far?

Yoga Wife: Nope. That just means I need a bigger closet.

Yoga Husband: Here’s the thing – something tells me you’ll run out of space regardless of the size of your closet.

Yoga Wife: Fine. Whatever. Why does this even matter?

Yoga Husband: I don’t know – maybe because with each of these tights costing around $100, I’m looking at a pungent pile of lycra worth upwards of $2,000. And because you’re buying them faster than we are moving up in life, the only place for you to put them is in my side of the closet. This, in turn, means that I have to make do with less and less closet space and less and less clothes, which is totally fine by me, but then when we’re an old couple you’ll look at me with weary eyes and ask me: ‘What happened to you? You used to care about how you dress.’

Yoga Wife: Aaaanyways… I gotta go teach. Have you seen my prayer beads?

Yoga Husband: Which ones? The brown ones from Goa or the ones you got in the Hindu temple in Sri Lanka?

Yoga Wife: The dark ones with the turquoise string. I think I left them next to the ones I bought from that blind woman in Costa Rica.

Yoga Husband: Found ’em! I’m putting them next to your tights.

Yoga Wife: Which ones?