Yoga Farts Smell Worse Than Bathtub Farts

I've done 2 things this weekend that qualify as true indulgence. Firstly, I got a massage. a deep-tissue, hair-splitting, "ouch, but it feels so good" massage. my hip has been sore now for weeks and I refuse to admit that it's due to premature arthritis. My dad suggested that. thanks Dad. btw your bald spot's getting bigger. the massage was amazingly great, and I really want to treat myself to one every now and again. it's only in those times that I realize how much tension I pack into my 4'10" frame. The other thing I did was attend a yoga class. As much as I want to commit to yoga as a form of release and help my overall inner well-being, the freak shows that go to class are too much. the deep breathing, occasional moan, and (yes) occasional flatulence send me right off the roof. I try so hard to let my "ankles stay active" and allow my "heart to reach my hamstrings," but in the end, I giggle and giggle and hiccup and end up sounding weirder than said "freak shows." so enough of that astanga, vinyasa hoo haa.