This week, I had my first experience with Yerba Mate (”mah-tay”). This sounds like something maybe I should be confessing to the bishop. It isn’t, really. But it is something to confess to the Internet.

The wonderful men with whom I now work (at the BFJ) and associate (and call Squishy and they are mine and they are my squishy) are from varied backgrounds with varied experiences in varied situations in varied years for varied reasons. Verily, verily I say unto you.

Tuesday, BFB (Big Friendly Boss) stopped by my desk and said, “We’re going to have a mate party at Thursday’s staff meeting. Please email everyone. They’re going to need bombillas [bulb-shaped motions with hands] and equipment.” This is where my eyes got huge and I gave the, “DUDE quit it with your world experience because hello, I am from Georgia. GEORGIA I SAY. Where they know okra. And fried chicken. Which do not require BOMBILLAS,” look. He smiled and told me to look it up but also to email everyone.

Also, who else thinks “mate party” and “bombillas” sounds vaguely drug-related? Also, who else thinks that it’s not “vaguely” but mostly “obviously.”

The mate party went well, in fact, and it’s surprising how a three-hour-long meeting isn’t so bad when you’re quite under the influence. Oh, I’m kidding. That wasn’t the mate, it was the three Diet Pepsis I’d had in the half hour just prior to my arrival at the meeting. Also, who doesn’t love Lithium?

I looked it up and what do you know? The Guarani Indians “introduced to the world” the panacea to all life’s aches and troubles and infractions and parking violations. Why, I’d be surprised if Yerba Mate didn’t already have my taxes prepared and oil changed.

I love working with men. I love that they are smart and self-sufficient men who have experiences and skills that make them interesting and aware of themselves and the world. I’m in love with my job and I am in awe of the blessing it is. Because blessings are the best and we all have so many. Amen.