That earns him an eye roll. Good lord, men. "If you can't understand why, then--well, I can't help you, honestly." It's probably not his fault, even. He doesn't seem too bright, but maybe that's just her feminist rage talking. She can't even bear to listen to him try to sweet-talk Swann. "Namaste," she tosses over her shoulder, bending to roll up her yoga mat and stalking out of the room. She doesn't normally lose her temper like that, but sometimes it's exasperating having a broadened worldview. And somehow yoga has lost its appeal. She needs a drink, and a strong one.