Things.
1) I love this weather. (Rain aside.) Love love love love love love love. 72 degrees and sunny today? And tomorrow? Yes, please.
2) New York Fashion Week is detrimental to my ordinarily acceptable self esteem. Everywhere I look, there's some tall wispy thing with slim hips, perfect hair and a blank expression.
3) Dinner parties are fun. Especially when your roommate fries okra and everyone talks Southern. Y'all come back now, y'hear?
4) I'm teaching the Brooklyn and the Queens and the Staten Island boys I know to talk Southern. It's really funny to hear their gruff voices say things like "yonder" and "fixin' to." Bless their hearts.
A story.
So, at one of the properties where I work, we maintain all guest requests in an online system. It's a large property with many concierges on board, so it's the easiest way to log Mr. Whatsidoosie's Nobu reservation, Miss Thingamajig's towncar confirmation number, and the So-and-So's theatre tickets. One relatively boring day, a colleague and I discovered the plethora of titles one may assign in the system. Mr. Mrs. The Honorable. Duchess. Princess. King. Sir. Captain. Countess. Etc. Because I have the maturity level of a 10 year old (with a humor level to match), I spent the day assigning guests as all kinds of fabulous things. After I left, a guest came down for confirmation of his dinner reservation at Morimoto. One of my fellow concierges, though in on the joke, printed out the confirmation and handed it to the gentleman. Much to all of our chagrin, I had entered him in as "Lord."
Good news. He laughed.
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