This is my brand of supplemental healthy living.
Ditch yoga class for impromptu happy hour with my lovely friend who I can always count on to share my love for fermented red grape products, music, travel, and fashion. Feeding my spirit with the uplifting energy and laughter that comes from equally light-hearted and soul cleansing dialogue with a confidant. While I don’t make a practice of neglecting my version of anti-anxiety medication (ie sweat-generated vinyasa flow magic mat flying yoga practice), I’ll also take care of my needs with supplemental therapies (ie a girls’s hh).
Talk of marriage & boyfriend (err, former boyfriend – as in just-this-week-threw-lying-conniving-cheating-Machiavellian-sociopathic-piece-of-youknowwhat-out-of-my-house – as in hysteria – as in trust annihilated – as in confidence shattered – as in changing my locks – as in will I ever forgive myself… crap, can my decision quality with men ever improve… but that is not the point tonight, and I am sure there will be plenty of woe is me journaling down the road), compare canine woes, relate on where we each were when we both fell in love with the music of Ray LaMontagne, and swoon over almost transcendent salads…. You know, the stuff that makes the world go ’round.
Then, the following dialogue exchange (when the bill arrived):
(I slip my card into the check jacket)
Me: “I’ll get this one.”
My awesome friend: “No, Jen, that’s too much.”
Me: “You’ve had a way crappier 24 hours than I have, let me buy you your drink.”
My awesome friend: “But I’ve had two glasses of wine-“
Me (Interrupting): “-On happy hour pricing, I’ve got it!”
My awesome friend: “Really? That’s too much, I feel bad.”
Me: “You seeeeee?????!!?? THIS is a VERY American thing to do — I have an international ettiquette book and it specifically states that you should argue back and forth with someone when they want to pay your dinner because that’s what Americans do. If we were European, you would have let me do this, already! And seriously?? You got my dinner Sunday night!”
My awesome friend: (laughing) “That’s true.”
Me: “I’ve had a really shitty week. Yours just got way goofier than mine, so can I please buy my friend a drink for inadvertently making me feel better about my crappiness.”
My awesome friend: (sarcasm dripping) “gee, thanks!” (laughing now, slaps my hand, end in hug) “Thank you!” “Cheers!”
Any place that has the style to play silent films via a projector screen as part of the ambient background is pretty swell, by my standards. 🙂
It’s kind of a weird dynamic, you know… this sort of exchange goes back and forth among friends who dine together so many times. Why is it that we feel so funky/funny and a little bit odd when a friend wants to pick up our dinner? Anytime I offer to pick up the check for a friend, it’s a BATTLE! And I do the same thing; I may as well be a gladiator dueling with my debit card against my friends — I’ve even had the check jacket yanked away from me and held over her head, out of my reach so I couldn’t tuck in my card.
And I’m touched at these moments, but a little bit embarrassed, as if it’s weird for me to accept a friend’s generosity. And it goes around and around and around, as if we’re twirling around a mulberry bush or something. Hmm. Funny, little, American girls.