A little while back, I attended a gallery opening in town at which the artist, Kym, asked if some friends and I would be interested in joining her downtown for the "sessions" at Erin's Pub. The "sessions" happen every Friday night when some talented musicians get together and play some old folk tunes. It's the kinda music where the accordion and mandolin demand a little hoe-down, and we, of course, submitted. Kym's mother was there, spinning with the rest of us younger folk, drinking with us younger folk, and Kym was quite humoured by all of it. Very humoured. Suddenly, between laughing gasps, she exclaimed, "The only thin funnier than this was that time last week when we decided to go slidin', and it was the three of us out there at night, and we did the hamburger, and I was the little bun on top, AND I PISSED MY PANTS!" This elocuted with great breathlessness and glee. The story made my night. And it was already a good night.