In the photo I received by email this morning, it's Saturday morning, 3am and I'm dancing in Birmingham's oldest, biggest and gayest gay club.
Dancing with a whole load of friends, plus my boss and two other members of the board of directors where I work.
Yes, it seems that I invited them. Don't ask me why. I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time.
In fact, the birthday party went really well - it was a good mix of 40 friends, family and a select few colleagues who have become friends over the years.
I'm not sure that my boss expected to ever see me stood in front of a room of drunkards, wearing a pair of bunny ears, demonstrating a pair of furry handcuffs and drinking champagne from the bottle through a straw shaped like a penis, but hey - she needs to love me or leave me, right?
Now, I'm sure exciting/crazy/worrying things happened and that hilariousness did indeed ensue, but I was just a little too, erm, drunk to remember. I'd love to be recounting tales of crazy mothers and idiot friends, but I truly don't remember.
See, the thing is, I remember telling people at the restaurant that we were off to the nightclub, and then I remember waking up at my Mom's house.
The whole period between those two events is lost forever.
At least I hope it is.
Please don't tell me what I did. I don't want to know....