Page 11 of Sassy & Sixty

"You know what?" Emma said, pushing herself to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster. "I think you might be right. This isn't the place for us at all."

One by one, they gathered their mats and belongings, still fighting back giggles. As they filed out of the studio, Rosie could have sworn she heard a collective sigh of relief from the remaining participants.

Once outside, they looked at each other, disheveled and red-faced.

"Oh my god," Julie gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. "Did you see Serenity's face? I thought she was going to spontaneously combust from all that repressed rage."

"Forget Serenity," Lisa chuckled. "Did you see Catherine? I thought we were going to have to call the fire brigade to get you down!"

Catherine, far from being offended, was laughing harder than any of them. "I haven't been that flexible since... well, ever! I think I discovered muscles I didn't even know I had.”

As their laughter subsided,Rosie looked at her watch. It was barely midday. "Well, ladies," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. "It's five o'clock somewhere. Who's for a glass of wine?"

A chorus of enthusiastic agreement met her suggestion. Twenty minutes later, they were ensconced in a cozy booth at The Red Lion, still in their yoga gear, a bottle of Pinot Grigio chilling in an ice bucket before them.

"To the Sensational Sixties Squad," Emma proclaimed, raising her glass. "May all our adventures be as memorable as this one."

"And may we never attempt the Downward Facing Dog again," Catherine added, clinking her glass against Emma's.

As they sipped their wine, recounting the morning's mishaps with increasing embellishment, Rosie felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol. She looked around at these women - Emma with her irreverent humour, Lisa with her quiet strength, Julie with her artistic spirit, and Catherine with her newfound willingness to laugh at herself - and felt profoundly grateful.

"You know," she said, during a lull in the conversation, "I haven't laughed like that in years. I'd forgotten how good it feels."

The others nodded in agreement, their faces softening with understanding.

"It's easy to forget, isn't it?" Julie mused. "When you're caught up in the day-to-day grind, dealing with life's... challenges." She didn't need to elaborate. They all knew she was referring to her separation from Tom.

"Well, I for one refuse to forget again," Emma declared, pouring herself another glass of wine. "Life's too short to take ourselves so seriously. We're not dead yet, ladies. Far from it."

"Here, here," Lisa agreed. "So, what's next on our adventure list? Skydiving? Burlesque dancing? Tattoos?"

Catherine nearly choked on her wine. "Let's not get carried away," she spluttered. "Maybe we could start with something a bit less... extreme? Like a cooking class?"

"Ooh, yes!" Julie's eyes lit up. "I've always wanted to learn how to make proper French pastries."

As they debated the merits of various potential adventures, Rosie sat back and simply basked in the moment. Who would have thought that a disastrous yoga class would lead to this?

She caught her reflection in the pub's mirror and barely recognised herself. Her hair was a mess, her face flushed with laughter and wine, and her yoga outfit was decidedly worse for wear. But her eyes were sparkling with a light that had been missing for far too long.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Lisa asked, nudging Rosie gently.

Rosie smiled, raising her glass. "I was just thinking... here's to new beginnings. And to friends who make those beginnings worth celebrating."

GIRLS' NIGHT OUT

Rosie stood in front of her wardrobe, hands on hips, surveying the battlefield of discarded outfits strewn across her bed. Who knew deciding what to wear for a night out could be so stressful? It had been years since she'd gone to a pub for anything other than a quiet Sunday lunch.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Emma: "If you're not wearing something that would make your ex-husband's eyes pop out, you're doing it wrong."

Rosie chuckled, shaking her head. Trust Emma to cut right to the chase. With renewed determination, she pushed aside the sensible blouses and reached for a sparkly top she'd bought on impulse years ago but never had the courage to wear.

"Well," she muttered to her reflection as she slipped it on, "if not now, when?"

An hour later, Rosie found herself outside The Golden Fleece, the local pub that had recently undergone a trendy renovation. Gone were the dartboards and dusty horse brasses; in their place were exposed brick walls and Edison bulbs dangling from the ceiling.

She spotted her friends huddled near the entrance, looking like a group of teenagers on their first night out - if teenagers had wrinkles and creaky joints.

"Well, well, well," Emma whistled as Rosie approached. "Look who decided to bring the disco ball with her."

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