We went out to dinner tonight. Our waiter was British. It was kind of slow, and we chatted with him on and off. By no means did I think he was my new best friend. At one point, both of our drinks were empty, and we had asked for refills. The waiter walked by, stopped, turned around, and came back to our table.
“Did I forget to bring your drinks round?”
“Yeah, but it’s ok”
“Oh, shit. It’s one of those nights, gents.”
Overheard on the Metro on the way back to the hotel:
“Did you ever have one of those weeks? Well, for me, this day has been just like that.”
And here’s one for you, Phoeby.
One of the office minions talking at us today:
“I feel like one of those guys that have their privates cut off. You know, emasculinated?
I spit my coffee out.
Oh, and best of all? The special hockey preview section in my complimentary USA today had the Sabres picked to go to the Stanley Cup Finals. And lose.
I guess I really will need those tissues.