There was so much snow yesterday that all the events in the mountains were cancelled, so everyone got home fairly early. A friend and I went to the local Irish bar, where Toby Dawson was doing some shots with some pals (he told us that the night before had been the first night since he won his bronze that he hadn't been drunk). My friend had Guinness and I had Nastro Azzurro, and then moved on to Baileys. (I know, ick. But for some reason the Baileys looked appealing.)
A handful of old NBC guys that my friend had been avoiding since the first day she met them were there, and they came over to talk to us. "Why aren't you finishing your drink?" one of them asked me, nodding toward my half full Baileys.
"Because I'll fall over if I do," I said.
Leer. "That's exactly what I was hoping for."
Ew. Ew. Ew.
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