It seems predetermined - the second week of May will involve a second-floor club, an abandoned one-drink policy and walks home that suddenly shift direction.
French fries eaten with forks taste better at midnight and my car karaeoke deliveries of Blues Traveler harmony finally paid off. And, while it started out with groans of "this is how it started last year," I woke up this morning feeling just fine. It started out the same, but with a different ending. Thank God.
Although the scent of butterscotch toffee lotion had persevered through three sets, drinks, karaeoke, sleep AND a long shower.
Damn you, Simpson.
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