Godzilla’s Yoga Class

Godzilla has been feeling… tense.

Yes, the tail-smashing, skyline-crushing, thermonuclear tantrums look dramatic, but they’re really just the result of tight hip flexors and unresolved emotional trauma. Tokyo understands. At this point, they just evacuate when the sirens go off and leave a little aromatherapy gift basket on the bay.

But the rampages aren’t doing it for him anymore. He’s tired. He’s molting irregularly. His scales look dull. The last time he screamed into the ocean, a passing whale told him to be quiet.

So he signs up for a yoga class.

It’s awkward at first. The room is too small. The mats are too flammable. The teacher, Cassandra, is incredibly brave and/or emotionally detached. She greets him with a soft “namaste,” which he accidentally mimics at 132 decibels, blowing out the windows.

He tries downward dog. It triggers a small earthquake in Hokkaido.

By week three, he’s noticeably calmer. No screaming for three days. No tail swipes. He only destroyed half a commuter bridge last Tuesday, and that was to rescue a cat.

Cassandra says his third chakra is “absolutely wild,” and he takes that as a compliment.

At the end of class, everyone lies in corpse pose. For once, Godzilla doesn’t dread the silence.

There’s a pigeon perched on his nose.

He doesn’t eat it.

Progress.