Inhibitions were abandoned somewhere between margaritas on the pleasantly curved hip of carousel 19B and the sunroof of a German Olympian occupied limousine.

Heels were clicked, legs were shaken, and chips were begrudgingly wrestled from our clenched knuckles and sweaty palms.

It was Vegas baby. What happened there was buried in the Valley of Fire. But that spark shall remain in our fuel-filled hearts.