I went in to my two horse hometown to meet one friend at a bar and ran into five.
We went searching for whiskey in my barn (and found it).
The douche told me he was incredibly sorry for all he had put me through and would like to marry me (in his wine cellar, on one knee).
And this boy, my Harry Burns, kissed me, about a year too late.
I can't make this shit up.
Maybe I should move across the country more often.