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!

     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...