Perhaps this was only funny to me because I got 3 hours of sleep, and am teetering precariously close to the edge of delerium.
Last night, I hit an "exclusive" club/lounge here in Toronto called Cache with a bunch of new girlfriends. I didn't even know it existed, and it's one of those places that's hidden in an alleyway between 2 streets, where you have to know the owner or security or be on some list to get in. Whatever. All I know is that hitting a club/lounge on a Wednesday night, having 3 shots and 2 drinks (when you don't normally drink), and then hooking up with The Boy, the night before a work day is not a very smart idea. I'm running on fumes here...and I fear, they are alcohol fumes.
Unsurprisingly, I woke up late for work this morning. So, we jumped in a cab and hightailed it uptown. As the cabbie handed me back my change, I simultaneously reached forward to grab my receipt, accidently hit his outstretched hand, and watched as the twoonie arced gracefully towards the open ashtray and landed smack dab in the centre with a pleasing clink.
Somehow, this struck me as totally ridiculous, and I burst into gales of hysteria. Yeah, I know. It probably wasn't that funny. But like I said, I'm running on fumes.
Is it the weekend yet?