The place: One of the finest restaurants in Philadelphia.

The fellow diners: Clients, partners, co-workers. A group in front of whom one does not want to humiliate oneself.

The prelude: As soon as I walk into the private room off the main dining area, I'm handed a glass of champagne, which I manage to consume as if it were a Big Gulp. The glass continues to magically refill itself and I continue to snarf it down in an attempt to quench a thirst I didn't even know I had.

The background: One glass of wine and I'm fine. One and a half glasses of wine and I feel a little fuzzy around the edges. Two glasses of wine and I am slurring my words and generally feeling pretty expansive in sharing my views of the world with everyone in sight. Cut these measures in half when dealing with champagne.

The situation: After I realize I have had about three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach, one of our hosts ask that I ask "say a few words" as the ranking executive from my company in attendance at the dinner. I start peering about, frantically downing hors d'oeuvres (almond soup, mushroom crepes, duck breast confit), nearly breaking the arm of the server when he took too long to turn in my direction. It didn't matter what it was, as long as it was food to soak up some of the alcohol that was rapidly seeping into my bloodstream.

The results: I have no idea what I said, although I do think I used the words "spark", "purple cow", and "Hawaii" all in one sentence. I don't know if the polite applause as I sat down (without falling into my plate) was genuine or relief that I'd finally stopped talking.

The speculation: The guy who requested that I speak was probably exercising a bit of revenge for my part in prematurely ending a very lucrative consulting engagement with his firm several years ago.

The aftermath: At the close of the dinner I realized I had an enormous smear of some sort of dark food on the front of my cream colored blouse. Could it have been the duck confit??