I'm not going to get my certification this fall. That's really fantastic. I bet you're going to be a great teacher. I'm sorry. Did you just look at my chest? Can I go to one yoga class without being completely uglied by some jerk? Hold on just a second. Can I say something really quickly? Oh, now you're asking for permission. Please. If you really didn't want me to stare at your beautiful breasts, you'd be wearing something other than a purple sports bra covering maybe a third of your perfect hits. And another thing, I'm biologically programmed to stare at boobs. It's in my DNA to scan for supple life-giving breasts. It's not a personal thing. It's not about me. It's about my potential future offspring. So really, it's a self-asset. I'm paying it forward. And one last thing. If all of that isn't enough, I spent the best 18 months in my life sucking on those things for my very sustenance. So don't you think that maybe in the recesses of my mind that I look at breasts and I think of a safe haven, that there are objects of love and caring, representing a time in my life when days were easy? And that maybe I saw all of that in your beautiful breasts. I don't know what to say. That was actually logical and somehow sweet. Do you want to go get coffee or something? You know, that'd be really great. Hey, man, how's it going, man? Oh, hey, Greg. I thought you were swimming. What do you know in yoga? Oh, well, I was and then I met April and now I'm doing yoga. Oh, no, no, no. Excuse me? I'm sorry. I just, it's just made some really great points about my breasts. God damn it, Mitch. Sorry, Greg. April, have you ever been to a shop or a counter meditation? It's a really grounding experience. This guy? Well, come on! Really? God!