“Just pick the best one!”

Thursday nights always turn out crazier than usual, mostly due to the free drinks served at a local club called *snicker* “Gandalf’s”. At 9pm sharp, me and my friends (a rough head count revealed 12 blotches of hair) gothed up to Gandies, and prepared ourselves for a night of hard music and harder liquor.

Stupidly, I followed the actions of my friends and left my jacket with the bar-tender. Suffice to say, at the end of the night/wee hours of the morning, my jacket had miraculously grew legs and walked itself into someone else’s bag. In layman’s terms, it got stolen.

My heart sank lower and lower as I watched the bar man take out a bunch of tops and none of them resembled mine. In the event of utter desperation, my friend shouted rather loudly and over the counter “Just pick the best one!” I, being the goodly and morally obliging citizen I am, refused. I was rather surprised at how strongly my moral standards held in my highly inebriated state.

In layman’s term, I felt proud.

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