Embarrasing personal story:
Once a year, after we've finished the fundraiser we do (it involves three month's solid work, 40+ hours per week on top of our actual jobs), my honey and I go to a bar to celebrate that the dang thing's over. We ceremoniously hand the keys to the bartender, and she promises not to give them back to us until the following day. Then, we enjoy a cocktail or two. After that, it's all a blur to me, as I am not a big drinker normally. Apparently, after the third Jaeger-bomb, I get the notion that I'm the greatest dancer the world has ever known, and that society should not be deprived of my talent. I vaguely remember last year doing some kind of lambada-esque dance with my aging honey, to a rap song by Snoop Dogg, I believe. I still get teased about it.