“I ran over a dog last night on my way home, and then I wondered what my wife had made for dinner. The two events are disappointingly not connected. Ah, but that’s life, no?”
“I ran over some dog poop on my drive home last night. But I didn’t feel bad, because I didn’t vote for that particular politician.”
“Wonderful. Last night's dinner, the charred remains of my dignity, and apparently, now, my undergarments, too. What else did I leave on Josh Bennett's bathroom floor?”
“I had dinner with my father last night, and made a classic Freudian slip. I meant to say, “Please pass the salt,” but it came out, “You prick, you ruined my childhood.”
“Last night as I was driving home, I ran over a guy in a wheelchair. But it’s OK—he was already paralyzed.”
“Last night I'd made love to a woman for the first and last time. It had been amazing and I had a memory that would shape the rest of my life.”