It all started when the pink bubbly was passed out.The champagne flowed like Niagara Falls around the old home place yesterday.Me not being a partaker of alcohol thought I was drinking fruit punch with bubbles.Seems I was wrong.
This morning I was told,now none of this I remember, about how I became my alter ego John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever and turned into a dancing machine under the lighted disco ball that hung from the ceiling.
Seems I danced the night away with everything that had long hair and was pretty.So if I did all this I can't say one way or another I just don't remember.
Someone said I had my own little kissing booth in the corner and was giving away free kisses to all the nice pretty Ladies.Again I have no memory of this.
So the moral of this story is stay away from the pink bubbly stuff.It ain't fruit punch.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
