So, this morning I'm on the way to work and I realize I have no portable carcinogens and no cash for tonight (even during a "free" evening, you're likely to need a dollar or two in your pocket). So, I stop at a gas station and buy p.c. and pull some cash from the ATM, glance at the receipt, toss it away, and drive off.

Four blocks later...the receipt flashes into my mind again.

Balance: $61.17.

A heart attack ensues since I should have twenty-five times that amount in my checking account.

I spent three hours dithering before I did the obvious thing and rechecked my balance, to discover that it was a computer or printer glitch and my money is still mine.

Nothing like starting the day off with a little adrenaline boost, right?

Other than that, the day has been uneventful. I'm eating fruit at the moment, and being careful not to dribble in myself since I don't have time to go home and change before dinner-and-the-theatre time. (But I'm eating strawberries and wearing a red shirt, so even if disaster should ensue, I can probably get away with it.) (Although it's a new shirt and I'd rather not ruin it.)

Tonight will be a Denver Dining Adventure about which I'll be blogging tomorrow. It's been many years since I dined at an establishment so aristocratic it tried to serve me the otherwise unmarketable inside parts of animals under the pretence that they were a delicacy. Not, in fact, since that time in London when, after the server stubbornly refused to be any more specific about the ingredients of a dish than, "meat" and I changed my order to the roast beef. Which was like shoe leather and I don't think those cows had any 'mad cow' disease, I think they jumped off of cliffs rather than submit themselves to the ministrations of British so-called "chefs."

I look forward to the opportunity of making rabid-weasel fun of this experience. I have a pencil, a bit of paper, and I've been limbering up my, hey, I might be a food critic eyebrow all week.

Today's lunch, to keep the palate clean, will be a turkey sandwich. (And as many butterscotch candies as I feel like eating because, hey who am I trying to kid with the 'palate' thing?)