A Mounting Case of Evidence

For awhile now my friends have been convinced that I don't like my husband to go anywhere with me. Little do they know the sad fact that I invite him everywhere and he just simply doesn't want to go. For awhile I thought he was just shy. And then for a few years I thought he was just lazy or didn't like my very nice but kind of slutty friends. For a short time I convinced myself that he had some sort of strange social disorder. Well, as it turns out, my husband Mike doesn't like going to social events with me because he says I drink too much, have no control, do stupid things, and I'm not fun. This to me a bold charge that I would like to sumbit to the jury of my peers. Let's examine the evidence shall we.

I submit to the court Exhibit A.



Here I am (second on the right). I'm happy, I'm with my friends, I'm having a good time. I'm not doing anything inappropriate or whorish like waiving my vagina in my hand asking people to smell it. Why wouldn't a husband like to hang out with me... well I should say MY husband. I don't want to get any other husbands that I hang out with in trouble.

I'm dressed nice, I'm smiling, I don't have stains on my shirt. For the most part, I think that I am the picture perfect image of what your wife wedding date should look like.

Exhibit B


Okay. Yes. I'm falling. But I would like court to take into consideration that I was wearing 5 inch heels (not pictured here so no I can't prove it). Okay. Yes. I had been drinking but church was over and the bar was open. Bad decision? Absolutely not. Its normal to go with your friends to an "inbetweener" during a wedding. What else was I suppose to do- what the bride and groom take photographs that they will cherish for the rest of their lives?!? Lame. I still maintain my initial plea of NOT GUILTY. Let's move on.

Exhibit C


Uhhhhhhh. Okay. Let me explain. First of all, I had recently been working out and under estimated my forearm strength. Second of all, those were the most flimsy 2 inch thick water glasses I have ever seen. Third and most importanly, I was sitting in the back table near the bar and wanted to make sure my CHING CHING CHING was heard. I am sitting there, clincking my glass, and out of no where... SMASH. My glass explodes like shaken diet coke and my tablemates are sprayed with the shrattenal of my broken dreams of being an unnoticed run of the mill wedding guest. So, yeah, I understand that this could possibly be embarrassing to my husband but let's be honest- I wear tshirts with pictures of bushes on them so this can't be the worst thing I have ever done.

Exhibit D


So what if I wasn't invited into this picture. I am happy, I am feeling good, I'm loving life. Now... I will say that the person standing next to me isn't my biggest fan and I'm sure she would have just wanted a photo of her, her husband, and nikki, but fuck it! I'm a photo ninja and I'm not going to apologize to anyone for being stuck on awesome 24 hours a day.

Exhibit D2 - like 10 minutes later


I am convinced they are talking about me even though they most likely aren't. Little does everybody know the whole world revolves around me when I am intoxicated. Is it because I jumped in their picture? Is it because I'm making a fool out of myself, is it because she is giant fucking cunt bitch that is whispering on purpose to piss me off???? Who knows. But I am- pissed, that is. I'm about three seconds away from a pure street beat down. Why you ask? Who knows. Maybe because I am 4 drinks past go home at this point but for this one I claim self defense. I don't know a whole lot of people, husbands included, that can sit a dinner table with people that hate you and make you feel like shit. Yeah, I'm not a pleasure to be around at this point, but I'm being poked. Don't poke the bear.

Exhibit E


I have stolen a girls purse and am digging through it to find an inhailor. No, I don't have ashma. No, I don't have a medical emergency. Let's move on.

Exhibit E2



I am blaming someone else for digging in the purse.

Exhibit F


Here I am, no longer angry, and dancing. From memory, I believe I doing a line dance but I'm also performing a really shitty impression of how my sister dances. No, my sister isn't at this wedding and no, no one there really knows her or has seen her dance so year, I'm on the dance floor- arms a'flailing, making a big giant ass out of myself. Awesome.

Exhibit G


Friends are trying to feed me bread. I'm pointing at the bread. Oh lord.

Final Exhibit H

I convince my equally drunk friend Nikki to steal this poor innocent snowman santa clause thing from the hall. I completely forget about it until three weeks later when my door bell rings. My husand calls my name and I come to the door to be greeted by this little guy.

"Camille."
"Yes."
"Someone left us a snowman"
"Uh Huh (giggle)"
"Do you know who?"
"Uh Huh (out right laughter)"
"You and your friends have some serious problems."

Guilty. Case closed. Lock me up and throw away the key. I am a sloppy, messy, embarrassing, and hormonally challenged hobo with a really great job. I'm not gonna lie- If I was married to me, I'd go everywhere with me just to see what would happen. Oh well, everyone is differant. Some of like staying at home, being a good parent, being responsible, and socially mature and some of us... well, let's just say some of us don't.