There’s something called Breath Immersion for Couples and it’s supposed to strengthen your relationship. In fact, there are conferences where you can go with your sweetheart and do nothing but practice respiration. Together. Really. As in TEAMWORK..
Always eager to learn new things, I implore my significant other, “Let’s go to this!”
“Let’s not, but say we did,” comes his standard reply as he lets out a long sigh of exasperation.
“Oh come on,” I cajole, mimicking his prolonged exhalation. Breath Immersion experts refer to this as Mirroring the Breath. “We can do some bonding.”
“Haven’t you finished reading that Fifty Shades of Grey book yet?” he demands, filling his chest cavity with hot air.
“Not bondage, silly. BONDING. We’ll bond through our breathing.”
“You must know how crazy that sounds?” he holds his breath and I suck mine in to equally match.
“Cut that out!”
“If you won’t go with me to the conference, then we’ll just have to do it right here.”
“I’d love to do “it” right here.” Smirk, smirk.
“Okay, funny guy. Now let’s stand face-to-face, put our palms together at our hearts, and silently acknowledge each other by making eye contact. Then we need to lean close together so that our foreheads and the bridge of our noses are touching.
“But you wear glasses.” A valid point.
“Alright, alternatively we’ll just take three deep breaths in unison.”
“You’re just making this stuff up as you go along, aren’t you? To make a fool of me. Where’s the hidden camera?”
“We’re going to relax and rejuvenate together using breathing immersion, if it kills us, dammit. Now inhale on the count of three.” I order.
“Okay, okay you Dominatrix, you.” But he eventually cooperates.
After a minute of simultaneous breathing, I rattle off all I know. . .
“Every second we’re becoming more in sync with each other and our actions are imbued with love and mutual understanding. You may be aware of a profound sense of appreciation and interconnectedness arising between us. Are you aware of that?” I prod.
“Yes, and I’m aware that your stomach just growled so I think we should order a pizza.”
“Wonderful! We’ll soon share our large prana.”
“Is prana a topping? Because I was hoping to split a medium pepperoni and mushroom.”
“Prana is our life force.”
“There you go with that “force” stuff again. BDSM must really be a big fantasy of yours.”
So far all he’s getting out of this experience is some sexual innuendo and a thin, NY style crust, but I am determined to see this through. Guilt. The guilt card needs to be played.
“You don’t love me, do you?”
“What? I adore you. Why do you think I gave you the ultimate gift that someone who cares about his mate could give on our last Valentine’s Day together?”
Yep he has me there, I fondly recall that romantic night when I opened up the little red box to find the one thing I had dropped hints at wanting . . . a Spire!
I think at this point there’s nothing left for me to do but admit he’s right and just suck it up. Like literally. I suck in my last Mirror Breath of the evening, wink seductively, then order him to meet me in bed — with an extra cheese pizza.