Marrying a SoulCycle Instructor

Marrying a SoulCycle Instructor
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I want my next wife to be a SoulCycle instructor. Here's why: I am writing a lazy sentence, one filled with banal language, thesaurus-easy adjectives. Nothing special. Then the door to my office swings open. "Are you ready Thomas Kostigen?!!!"

It's my SoulCycle wife. She is a grown up version of Cindy Lou Who, buffed and in lycra. She has a boombox with her and it blares an ashamed-to-admit catchy dance tune--a Katy Perry mixed with Journey type of song. She shuts the lights. It's just the glow of my computer screen now and the thump of music as this curiously attractive drill sergeant cum yoga instructor cum life coach shouts at me: "What's your intention?!!!" "Why are you here?!!!" "Let it go!!!" "You can make it happen!!!"

I don't particularly have time to process what she is saying.

"Give me two turns to the right!!!"
I spin in my swivel office chair a couple of times.
"Can you feel it?!!!" "One, two, three. One, two, three!!!"
She is dancing now. A couple of steps here and there. She yells some altruisms. I think. I can't hear what she is saying with the music blaring.
"Don't lose your intention!!" is all I can make out. "Ride!!!"
I want to explain that I am writing not riding, but no matter.
"Two turns to the left!!"
I turn the opposite way in my chair.
"Can you feel it?!!!"
I feel dizzy.
"You're almost there!!!"
Where? I wonder.
"Bring it up!!!"
I stand.
"Back, one two. Up, one two!!!"
I stand an sit. Stand and sit.
"Give it to me!!!"
I bend and straighten my arms from the keyboard.
My trusty assistant Argus has his ears up and his tail between his legs. Just how I feel. He cocks his head to one side and looks at me. I think we are thinking the same thing: WTF!
But just as things seem like they are getting over the top -- in a rococo meets Lady Gaga definition of over the top -- all quiets.
"Breathe," she says. "Ask yourself if it is worth it."
I still don't understand.

She turns and shakes her butt, flicks on the lights, and shuts the door. If my trusty assistant had proper shoulders he'd look at me and shrug. I stare at my computer screen and erase what I wrote; start anew. I then feel oddly invigorated, sensory violated, and a bit dazed -- all at the same time. It's a weird mashup. Like SoulCycle itself. Yet within all the distraction I find focus. And I want to marry whatever that is. I'd get shit done and be happy. Which would be worth all the shouting.

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