There was a gentleman there whose accent sounded like home. He, like my father, was from south Georgia. In the morning chatting while my friend DP scrambled eggs for everyone, Bill told stories that reminded me much of how my Dad tells stories. The steak did seem to be a big hit and delight for the folks who had breakfast. For many of them, sleeping in was a magnificent luxury.
So, there was an ordering mistake at dinner last night, and my brother and i ended up splitting the pitcher of margaritas. I realize now, that yes, i did not HAVE to finish the pitcher, but i did.
I was muttering about how i felt odd, and i realized it was likely i have a hangover. Erhm.