Signs a girl should call it a night.

There is one of those silly email forwards that's been floating around for years with the above title. It offers examples such as:

- I believe that dancing with my arms overhead and wiggling my butt while yelling WOO-HOO is truly the sexiest dance move around.

- My eyes just don't seem to want to stay open on their own so I keep them half closed and think it looks exotically sexy.

- I've suddenly taken up smoking and become really good at it.

Saturday night, I think I found another one to add to the list. Walking away with my second piece of street meat (yes, second. Because, apparently, at 3:00 am having just one sausage from the streetside vendor isn't enough - apparently, at 3:00 am, you should go back to the vendor and get another hot dog), I slipped on some ice, and fell to the ground in a full lunge position. Right knee and hand on the cold, wet, ice. Keeping balance with my left leg (foot firmly planted on the ground) and left arm outstretched, maintaining maximum distance between my beloved hot dog and the dirty ground.

I tried to stand up. But between one hand occupied saving the precious street meat, and the slippery ice and, well, the vast quantities of alcohol consumed, I couldn't quite make it. A random stranger helped me to my feet. (My friends were further away on the corner having some deep conversation, oblivious to my graceful performance). As I stood up and slid back over to my friends, I was touched by the support of the crowd standing outside the bar. I got many compliments on my ability to fall down and yet save the hot dog. Not even any pointing and laughing! (That I could hear. :p) Such nice, lovely, drunk people!

I approached my friends and told them it was obviously time to call it a night. When you fall completely on your ass (or you knee, as the case may be)in front of dozens of people, can't get up yourself and yet, take pride in your ability to rescue the manna sent down from the heavens (not even a drop of ketchup spilled!), it's about time to head home.

The thing is, looking back on the event in my sober state, I don't even get embarrassed. All I think about was the guy who complimented me, several times, on my form and my saving of the hot dog. I think he might've been pretty cute. Then again, after 7 shots, 8 martinis, a couple other drinks and a bottle of wine, who wouldn't be?