That Time I Terrified My Husband

It's officially less than a month until Christmas and I'm still not getting the festive feeling, despite the fact that I've slurped hot chocolate out of a Santa hat wearing penguin mug and stuffed four mince pies in my face this week. 
I think it's time to break out the Bublé big guns. 
Anyway, this is totally irrelevant to this post today because I'm actually here to talk about my jolly jaunt around the Emirates Palace which took place on Tuesday. Although this sounds like it's going to be a dignified post, I can assure you it's not. 
So I'll just jump right in...

Three fishbowl-sized glasses into a bottle of wine and wearing publicly indecent, denim cut-off shorts, I paid my very first visit to the Emirates Palace. 
The reason being?
My darling husband, who after his very first football game on Abu Dhabi soil, decided to come home and tell me that he'd lost his wedding ring whilst playing on the grounds. We've been married 81 days, FYI. 
If you ever want to know what it feels like to be a whisker away from beating a loved one with a wine glass, just have them tell you that they remember dropping their wedding ring on the grass, but fail to remember picking it up as they, and wait for it, may have gotten distracted by something else.  
I'll be polite because I'm interneting and I'm aware that this is a public forum, but let's just say that expletives were used... many of them.
It was my first visit to Emirates Palace and I can't help but wish it had been on better terms. It's hard to appreciate the architecture and wonderfully landscaped surroundings when you're doing the whole, trying not to strangle your husband thing. 
After walking several lengths of a football pitch, bent over double with only an iPhone 'torch' as a source of light, I was already making a mental note of all the, 'payback points' I'd be cashing in over the next few weeks. I won't go into detail about the beetles, but they were black, bulbous and my toes had never felt more exposed in my open-strap sandals. 
Because rummaging through foliage at pushing midnight isn't my most ideal way to spend an evening, I decided I'd head back to the car to seethe and give the car another once over.
It was then that I saw it. Sitting there glowing, as if it had fallen from Tolkien's pages itself and right into the back seat space of our Toyota Corolla hire car. 
We didn't speak much of it on the way home. Maybe it was the sobering realisation that I wouldn't get to finish my bottle of wine or the fact that I wouldn't be cashing in any points after all. In reality, I was relieved that we'd avoided our first, real marriage-shaking argument. I mean, we've disagreed over spoons, but when, (in your wine afflicted mind) a discarded ring in the grass is a metaphor for your fledgling marriage, you know shit's going to go down. 
It wasn't the idea of the ring being lost, accidents happen and I know these things can't always be helped. What bothered me more was the thought that anyone could simply drop something so important, and not bother to pick it up. Effectively, this is what I'd screamed at my husband for the thirty minute car journey to the football grounds until he was forced to see the entire thing from my point of view. 
Girls, you probably know how these things work...
Anyway, as the saying goes, 'all's well that ends well' I guess. If anything, I think I've terrified my husband into being a little more careful with his, 'treasured possessions.' 
One could almost call this a positive life experience!