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“No, no,” Mom says. “We brought our yoga mats.”
“Huh?” is my genius reply.
Dad beams with pride. “We’ve been sleeping on yoga mats for the last couple of weeks. My back problems are gone.”
“That’s great,” Art says. “But you didn’t need to bring your own mats. You could’ve borrowed ours.”
Only if he wants to burn those yoga mats in the same fire as the kitchen table.
“Ours are made of cork,” Mom says. “That works better for us.”
Don’t they use cork mats in hot yoga because they’re better able to handle sweat? So why—
Never mind. I hope I never find out for sure.
As Mom and Dad get said mats out of a suitcase and lay them down in the middle of the living room, the implications of this arrangement dawn on me.
With my parents here, Art can’t sleep on the living room couch.
He and I are about to share the bed.
