It’s New Year’s Eve, and the restaurant is hopping—revelers, band, overworked waiters. Wending his way through the crowd is a drunk, staggering back to his seat. Spotting an attractive woman sitting alone, he says, “Pardon me, miss, did I step on your feet a few minutes ago?”
“Yes,” she says testily, “you did.”
“Good! I knew my table was around here somewhere.”
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