One of the most dangerous things about being a comedian is the company that you keep-namely other comedians.
I was recently on tour in Stirling, Ontario and got to visit my friend. stand-up performer Timmy Boyle after the show.
Timmy: “Hey, do you want to join me for yoga tomorrow morning? It’s a small class. In fact, hardly anyone shows up.”
Me (sensing an adventure): “ Sure, but I don’t have any work-out clothes. Can you spot me something?”
At this point, I’m thinking: ‘Everybody has an extra pair of shorts. This could work.’
Timmy: “Uhhh…sure. I’ll bring a pair of shorts for you.”

The next day I arrived at Creekside studios, ready to work some kinks out. Timmy was already there and waiting.

Me: “Did you bring some shorts for me?”
Timmy: “Yup! Here you go. You can change in the bathroom.”

As I headed for the bathroom, I couldn’t help but notice how ‘light’ Timmy’s shorts felt. I’ve carried my own shorts here and there and mine always like they contained more material somehow.

Once I attempted to put them on, I realized the problem.

Timmy (knocking on the bathroom door): “How’s it going in there? We’re ready to start.”
Me: “ HHNNNNN! MMMMFFFF! These shorts seem awful small. NNNNGGH! Where did you get them?”
Timmy: “They’re mine. I’ve had them since I was sixteen.”

At this point, I knew I was holding up the class (that was probably only Timmy and the instructor) so, with Herculean effort, I scraped my knickers up over my thighs. Timmy was waiting for me as I came out.

Timmy: “Looks good.”
Me: “Timmy, I look like a male stripper. Surely you had a better pair of shorts available.”

Then I got a real good look at Timmy’s outfit. He was wearing a T-shirt and jogging pants. The Tshirt was quite faded but the jogging pants were something else. In fact, they could only be called pants by the most broad definition. There were no knees in these ‘pants’. Just huge holes that stretched from mid-thigh to an inch above his ankles. And they were so old that they were literally threadbare. Everywhere.

Timmy: “I had to start wearing shorts underneath because everyone was complaining.”
Me: “Ha!”
Also Me: “Wait a minute. Everyone? What ‘everyone’?? I thought it was just you and your instructor?”
Timmy: “That’s the OTHER class. This one is full.”

Suddenly every terrifying dream of ‘showing-up-to-work-in-your-underwear’ was coming true: I was in a yoga class full of strangers wearing the mini-britches of a Chippendale performer.

The class was the longest hour of my life. Twenty adults (two men and eighteen women) packed into a small yoga studio- all of us working studiously to ignore my choice in fashion. Downward Dog felt like I was flaunting everything and all of the Warrior poses made me strut my stuff for all to see, with nothing left to the imagination.

The one thing that has always prevented me from joining a yoga class is the fact that there is not one stretch or pose that does not squeeze some amount of gas out of me. It’s physics. The upside to wearing these Roller Derby shorts was that hauling them on had actually FORCED my boxers into every available crevice. There was no way ANYTHING was escaping. Peeling them off again was like what most people go through when they are waxing…with much the same results.

In the end, several things were accomplished:

1. I learned to never trust a fellow comedian when matters of clothing are concerned. 
2. I learned how to rise above ‘chafing’ to achieve a good stretch.
3. My fellow students learned that if one can focus beyond what is right in their faces, they also can achieve a good stretch.