Prologue
Once upon a time, there was a girl raised in a happy house
filled with joy.
(Though her hair was cut too short and she was often
mistaken for a boy.)
Like her clan, she was kind hearted and dressed with flair.
Like all the girls in her family, her body was shaped like
a pear.
She never once thought that being a pear was necessarily
bad,
Until authority figures said things that made her
oh-so-sad.
Her ballet teacher told her she’d never be able to take a
pointe class.
“The tutus, my dear, are not wide enough to cover your
ass.”
The drill team instructor said she’d sure win the top
spirit prize.
“However, we can’t cheer to victory with those big thighs.”
The broadcasting dean said her writing style was profound,
uncanny.
“However the television screen is simply small for your
fanny.”
She went through life, day after day, feeling quite odd.
“I’ve only got this one,” she’d think, “this one
pear-shaped bod.”
Her romantic life often went from mediocre to bad to worse.
To heal, she’d cozy up with Bailey’s and pen mean-spirited
verse.
The tall trust fund frat boy stole her heart and then
turned snide.
“I adore your brains and smile but loathe your backside.”
The banker sent flowers and notes, not aware he would
offend
When he whispered, “I have a fetish for you and your giant
rear end.”
The one with broad shoulders had a rod that just wouldn’t
get hard.
“I’m sorry my sweets, but every time I see your thighs, I
think of lard.”
She kept going on, sometimes quite woefully, down life’s
path.
Taking comfort in knowing she wasn’t as sad as Sylvia
Plath.
It made her angry; this pear shape wasn’t exactly her
choice.
Over time, she garnered great attention for having a great
voice.
Hiding behind the smokescreen of the radio dial,
She finally found her passion, her reason to smile.
At home, though, she would run and swim,
Hoping one day to simply morph into thin.
A dear friend Helen cajoled and begged, “You’ve got to give
yoga a try.”
“I can’t, I can’t, I’m such a stiff little pear, stretching
makes me cry.”
She started with yoga made gentle for those over 65.
It hurt, she was sore, she limped—this was no way to
thrive.
She tried again, at a place where they hopped and spun.
However, the 6 A.M. wakeup calls were simply no fun.
About to give up, she went to a studio that promised she’d
sweat a lot.
For the first time in her life, the shape of her body she
simply forgot.
The heat made her sweat and detox and become loose.
One day she said to herself: “My, I’ve got a nice little
caboose.”
She transformed, she dripped, to new heights she did reach.
Knowing by the tenth class, this yoga she had to teach.
In order to teach, you get a blessing, an official stamp
By surviving Bikram’s infamous nine-week yoga boot camp.
She was hooked, her skin glowed, she had become a regular
yoga junky.
Though she did fret about the voice in her head, a
mean-spirited monkey.
As our pear grew up surrounded by a family well-rounded,
Bikram’s physical feats, by age four, simply astounded.
As our pear was told, “Your body won’t do, that’s
impossible, never, never;”
Bikram was told, “Your body is your ticket, you’ll be great
forever and ever.”
So our two opposites came together one year, a little like
The Odd Couple,
She being doubtful and stiff, he dynamic and supple.
They butted heads, they disagreed, there were insults, and
someone came undone. Who? To find out, you’ll have to start
at the beginning, on page one.