I dropped my camera into The Fiance's glass of beer.
It stopped working.
I got pretty pissed at said camera. And beer. And self.
The camera worked the next morning.
My bellybutton ring fell out.
I found part of it in my boot.
I don't know what happened to the rest of it.
I got to pet a Boxer.
And almost got eaten alive by another one.
The Fiance escaped from the bedroom in the middle of the night, and I found him in the fetal position on The Parents' couch.
I took The Parents' Dog for a walk.
He ate dog crap.
I tried to pull it out of his mouth, unbeknown to me that it was dog crap.
I had dog crap on my hand for the remainder of the walk.
Speaking of crap, I learned a lot about The Fiance from Dad-in-Law this weekend.
He'd kill me if I told you.
So I won't.
The Fiance went golfing on Saturday.
In late November.
Because it was 60 degrees.
I reunited with old friends after years.
None of them got fat.
Everyone else did.
There was no run-in with She Who Wants Me To Die, But Not As Badly As I Want Her To Die.
I was sort of disappointed by that.
I found out a friend of The Fiance's has seen my boobs.
One of those times was on Halloween.
I am not surprised by this.
The Fiance loves The Parents' Pets more than he loves me.
The Pets love him more than they love me.
The Parents love him more than they love me.
Wait a minute...
I ate only three pieces of pumpkin pie in the course of five days.
The Fiance ate one-quarter of a pumpkin pie in one sitting.
All in all, it was fabulous.
And we'll do it again in a month for Christmas.