First, let’s get this out of the way: no, The Realtor did not make an appearance (shocker). Moving on.

The house-warming party did indeed warm the house. We had enough beer, enough snacks, and the worlds collided without too much friction. Once or twice my select group of eccentric family members tried to answer the door or approach extra-sensitive friends when I was preoccupied and I would need to throw my mom a look of intervention; she would laugh and hurry after them – of course hesitating first as if unsure what I was communicating via eye-contact – because she is sometimes EVIL. She also decided that my Baby Cakes looked adorable and proceeded to instruct my friends to tell me that they also thought he looked adorable. I don’t think she fully comprehends the magnitude of the best-friends-with-The-Kid thing nor the lack-of-sexual-spark thing. My Work Husband had the opposite reaction, experiencing full-on hater-mode toward Baby Cakes and pleading with me to end the “poor bastard’s torment.” The party had relatively low drama, just a lot of drinking, eating, laughing, happiness, etc (blah blah blah).

I wish I had A Great Event that happened but no, it was somewhat boring on that front. I shared my bed with The Bestest Friend’s sister if that’s any indication of my evening’s prospects. Course, my breakfast eggs were cooked by a cute male the following morning; the fact that that male was my brother? Well, it’s almost better that way. He amuses me. And I can tell him, “shut up, I’m hungover” without offense.