Warning: Awesome and funny adult-ish commentary below!

When we practice yoga, we move our bodies and our energy.

We also, sometimes, move other things. Like gas.

Or air.

Sometimes, we cut the Chi.

With our vaginas.

A queef, also known as a vart (vaginal fart), is the expulsion of air through the vagina. It is not smelly (unless your vagina has accidentally inhaled some already smelly air).

Often, queefs sweep in with no notice until it’s too late. And, once a queef begins, any attempts to stifle it only seem to amplify it, as if someone’s holding a microphone up to your vulva.

If you have ever queefed during a busy yoga class, you’re not alone. Here are the Five Stages of Queefing in Yoga Class.

Denial.

At first, the sound is startling: a noise akin to a large balloon being untied and released, allowing it to sputter through the room.

It’s so startling that it takes a moment to realize that the sound is, in fact, coming from your own vag.

You give your yoga mat neighbor the side-eye in an attempt to shift the blame onto her. Except it turns out to be a dude, and he beats you to the side-eye. So you start scraping your toenails across your mat, as if to explain it’s your yoga mat that sounds like an unwell, whinnying horse.

Anger.

You wonder why the universe hates women. We get periods and PMS and uterus-crushing cramps. Then the pain of childbirth. Then the aftermath, including a possibly floppier yoni which in turn, produces bigger, longer, louder queefs.

Why don’t yoga teachers address this? Why don’t they warn you that Three-Legged Dog might as well be called Winding Up the Queef Machine?

If you were a yoga teacher, you’d be so supportive. Instead of that horny unicorn music, you’d play a stream of constant farting and queefing, just to make people feel more comfortable with their bodily functions.

Because you are that kind, goddammit.

Bargaining.

This is your prayer of mercy:

Please stop. Please, vagina, stop sputtering. Stop sucking in air and slurpily expelling it. You promise you will start doing Kegels the minute this class is over but please for the love of god stop varting. I will be so good to you, Baby. I will tidy up the landscape and stop buying the cheap tampons. I will lather you up with the finest French soap—not that you’re dirty! I’ll take you out to see Magic Mike XXL and buy you a vagina pony. A yoni pony!

Just please stop making that sound!

Depression.

You’re done for. You can’t go to yoga anymore. It’s just too embarrassing. You guess you’ll just stay home and watch yoga downloads and queef by yourself.

Acceptance.

From the muck of your desperation, a lotus flower of hope blooms.

You realize: Everybody queefs.

Well, at least women. Men don’t, right? Can penises suck in air? Is that why they call it a blow job?!? Wait. I’m Googling this shit. Urban Dictionary says penile queefs are much more rare, but they can happen! And they’re called quofes—yes quofes!

Our bodies are amazing. A queef is just a queef. Except when it’s a quofe. Queefing and quofing are totes natural. Let’s all lighten up. It’s just a little upcycled (literally—up my vag!) air, people!

Here I come, Plow Pose…

More awesome from Lynn:

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Author: Lynn Shattuck

Editor: Renée Picard

Image: via Pixabay

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