Mariment Laughter Yoga

     While visiting New Orleans last month, daughter Kirsten and I decided to TGIF with Mojitos at the plush hotel bar despite the fact that we were bedraggled from day-long activities...
     Prior to our TGIF, we'd ridden in the elevator up to the floor when Alexa was attending a cheerleader Mardi Gras party.  Several businessmen seemed amused at the conglomeration of young teen cheerleaders and frazzled parents.
     Kirsten and I sat with a whoosh into the cushy bar chairs and mentioned to the hostess that we'd like to order Mojitos.  A few moments later the bartender came around from behind the bar, set the drinks down at our table and said, "These are courtesy of Mr. Jeffrey," and quickly walked away.  Both of us looked at each other, mouths agape.
     "Who's Mr. Jeffrey?" we asked each other.  Then, "What do we do now?"
     We looked in the direction of the bar.  Who might Mr. Jeffrey be?  "Do you think it's the man who smiled at us in the elevator and then asked if we'd 'ditched the cheerleader' when we sat down at our table?" I asked.
     As the hostess walked by we flagged her down.  "The bartender just gave us these drinks compliments of Mr. Jeffrey, but we're not sure who Mr. Jeffrey is.  Plus neither of us know what the protocol is for accepting drinks from men,"  I said, "My daughter can't remember the last time a guy bought her a drink, and it's been waaaay longer since a guy bought me a drink!"
     The hostess thought about it and said, "You're really lucky, I don't think a man has ever bought a drink for me!  Let me ask the bartender who sent the drinks to your table."
     Just as the hostess walked to the bar, the group of businessmen left.  I said, "Thank-you!" as they passed, but none of them looked our way.  The hostess returned and confirmed that the man who'd talked to us had indeed been Mr. Jeffrey.
     Both of us were chagrined that we'd not been able to say "thanks for the drink," and we laughed at our country-bumpkinishness.  "I guess we can't get into trouble while we're in NOLA if neither of us know what to do when a man buys us a drink!" I said.
     Later we each shared the story with our husbands and laughed that the most important facet of the story to them was that we avoided adding $30 to our hotel bill.
     Thank-you Mr. Jeffrey wherever you are!

     Life-long I've been allergic to bad smells.  If I were employed as "professional nose" for a perfumer or winery, others might cut me some slack for my shoulder shuddering when sniffing a dastardly scent, but no...I'm known as being "too sensitive."
     Years ago when I traveled as part of my job, I often had to change rooms if I detected an unfavorable smell.  The first place I looked was the bathroom shower curtain.  I don't know if hotels regularly change curtains, but a scrim etched in pink, green, gray or black  is a dead giveaway that the drape is moldy and needs to be banished.
     Recently I read that the quality of one's dreams are affected by scents.  So if the bedroom has an attached bath in need of scrubbing, guess what?  You're likely to have nightmares.  Not nightmares of the Scrubbing Bubbles coming after you...oh no! more like fear of an gruesome alien abduction complete with screeching sound effects.
     Of course it makes sense that Bath & Body Works sells "pillow scents" in lovely odors like vanilla and lavender.  Unless you've been attacked by a rare orchid or lavender plant those fragrances will likely give you good dreams as well as good sleep.  It wouldn't be good marketing for Bath & Body Works to bottle and sell a pillow scent called "eau de gym shoe," "flop-sweat," or "landfill."
     Dr. Alan Hirsch, a nationally recognized smell and taste expert and the founder of the Smell & Taste Treatment and Research Foundation in Chicago, discovered that men are most attracted to scents of  lavender, pumpkin pie, donuts, and black licorice.  Women are most attracted to black licorice, cucumber, baby powder, pumpkin pie and lavender.  Attraction was measured as "additional blood flow to the penis" in men and "additional lubrication in the vagina" in women. 
     No wonder fragrance and perfume is a bazillion-dollar industry worldwide.  Not only are we seduced by advertisements for celebrity perfumes, but merchants of all kinds subtly use fragrance as a means to gain greater access to our wallets.
     After a long day at work, I'm ready to jump into my jammies and nod off to dreamland, but wait...!
     "Uh hon...are those Good & Plenty candies hiding under my pillow or are you just glad to see me?"

     Gene laughs at my ability to get free steak dinners.  I don't plan on getting 'steak from heaven' when we go to our favorite restaurants, but it happens.

     I don't get my meal for free if I order chicken or pork.  But there's something magical about my relationship with steak that does it for me.

     I'm not one to complain about a meal.  I have images of the wait staff or kitchen help playing  fast and loose with my food before they return it to me, so I typically avoid complaints.

     But on the rare occasion when I am out and order a steak, I have exacting standards.  If I order the meat "medium-rare" they send it out well-done.  If I order the meat "with no seasoning" they dump salt & MSG on it like snow on a ski slope. 

     I don't want to pay for a steak that is burnt or one that freaks my palate, so when the manager asks (on the first bite), "How's everything?" I sweetly reply, "Uhmmm.  I ordered my steak medium rare" or "I ordered my steak without any seasoning."  I know the response by rote: the manager apologizes and orders up another dinner for me. 

     If the first steak was slow, the second one is even pokier. And of course I get concerned.  Exactly how much play is going on in the kitchen? By the time my new steak arrives, everyone else is finished eating and my salad has settled nicely in my stomach. My tummy tells me, "It's too late to eat a whole dinner now!"  So I end up taking half the steak home.

     I really appreciate the free steak dinners, but my husband is convinced that I'm sending out some strange vibe that is blocking restaurant staff from sending my dinner out right the first time.  If that's the case, I hope the vibe also prevents them from playing "plate in the pants" with my second steak before they send it out...

Life's comedy is all around me, and I am fed by it.  Like Cookie Monster with Oreos, I'm constantly checking every cranny, nook and baseboard for laughter bytes.

I laugh at the absurdity of life. "What was I thinking?"   When the Powers That Be make a particular (and infinitely laugh-inducing) bone-headed decision: "What were they thinking with?"

I laugh at the innocent discoveries of infant animals and tiny humans.  "What is this new thing?  That person is gone from my sight, and then they magically reappear.  Weeee!  Me like this magic!"

I laugh for absolutely no reason other than my lungs and spirit need a workout. "Ahhh. I feel soooo incredibly clean inside!"

I laugh because I want to be closer to someone.  Shared laughter deepens bonds of friendship and can create a new and funny less-traveled road in a time-wearied relationship. "Oh yeah, baby!"

I laugh with joy whenever I see a butterfly, especially if it graces the top of my head with its dancing feet.  "I don't know what's going on upstairs, but please, please, please, don't stop!"

I laugh in camaraderie or conspiratorially when I discover that a new friend has a warped sense of humor that equals or exceeds my own.  "Whoopee!  You be a cracked-head laugh-magnet too!"

On gray days without sunshine, I'm an addict looking for a fix:  "Where's the funny today?"  Universal thank-yous to the developers of Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, Blogger, and other websites that provide a fun-fix when I need it most...with no cover charge!

Why do I laugh?  Laughter feels absolutely fabulous..inside and out..and it costs nothing! 

Laughter stretches me like Silly Putty, stamps hilarity onto my soul, and then bounces me over life's lumps and bumps wildly.

Need a lift?  Lift your face with laughter.