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After a six-month hiatus from practicing beginner yoga, I decided to finally start using the countless number of online coupons I had accumulated, especially because they were about to expire. I had a few nearby studios to choose from and went with the one three blocks from the beach, on the lively Third Street Promenade in LA, home to a plethora of shops and street performers.

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So I’m in class, imagining the ways I’d like to kill myself and impatiently waiting for the (appropriate) Corpse Pose as the merciless instructor reminds us to accept the pain of the Twisting Chair Pose, breathing through it, when it hit me: This is a goldmine for singles. There are men and women who are here to let go of negative energy, become more accepting, and in some very compromising positions (e.g., Downward Facing Dog). This is the place to swoop in after class with something along the lines of “I really liked your alignment.” Risque? Maybe. Cheesy? Absolutely, but much better than the alternative [insert awful, overused pick-up line] while drunk at a bar. And how much more convenient to go for a cup of hot, calming tea after a session of stretching and serious exhaling!

This environment, in my humble opinion, also has better return on investment than the gym, which, while having its own milieu of beau seekers, is a lot more closed off. Most people have their headphones on or are glued to the TV screens overhead. For those of you with gym memberships – do not despair! Many have daily yoga classes – give it a try.

If I were single, I’d definitely give this a go and come back to tell you all about it. But my encounter is another story altogether (See: The (Online) Buffalo Exchange of Romance). So, instead of having tea with a mysterious yogi, I came home and, to counteract any health benefits of the previous two hours, ate the rest of the Thanksgiving turkey and a few rounds of cake.

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