My new all-purpose excuse for anything that I screw up:
"Sorry. I'm having an out-of-control feather-boa moment."
Maybe you had to be there.
Of course, if you had been there, it would have meant that you were watching this week's episode of the show in which they are selecting a new Pussycat Doll, and I would never believe that you would be so tacky.
Cranky Pants
I fell in a pond and was attacked by great toasted newts.
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