In which I am crazy, part 4,972. And I also say "retarded" a lot, but I mean no harm.

There is a situation. With incriminating evidence. OK, not so much "incriminating," as, "Krista is retarded," but whatever. It's incriminating.

There was a party over the weekend. A wild party, as they usually are. And if you know me, hi, I loathe wild parties. I'm boring. I like wine. I like sober people, etc. I enjoy people's company when I know we'll all remember it the next day, and no one ends up arrested. (i.e., HALLOWEEN. I rest my case). I like to BE 24, but pretend I'm 49, where people have social gatherings with cheese and crackers. But whatever, that's just me.

Anyhow, I could not attend said party, which is unfortunate because I DO enjoy the company of said party-goers, even if I'd mostly rather knit in the corner or something (I kid, I kid. Sort of). Today, however, I received incriminating evidence that The Fiance got, well, very drunk, which isn't really new, because, well, that's what happens at said parties, but keep in mind "Krista is retarded."

The incriminating evidence is a photo. One photo in a slew of many other photos, but this photo is particularly damning. Well, OK, not really, but again, keep in mind "Krista is retarded." In said photo, The Fiance, whom is drunk (!!) has his hand on the hip (!!) of a very attractive (this is public knowledge) blonde who is (and this makes this evidence less damning) in reality very sweet. With said hand on said (very attractive, blonde) hip, he leans forward, as if to plant a kiss. Or share a secret. Or lick her (?). And then, you know, the picture ends. We don't really know what happens.

It's just a photo, and, like I said, I am retarded, but why does it make me wince each time I see it? Keep in mind, A) I am not blonde, nor as hot as she. B) I was not at said party, therefore couldn't have been the hip underneath the hand. And C) I am retarded. Oh, and D) Really, this girl is the sweetest thing.

So, really, I just thought I'd lay all my crazy insecurities out on the table, for you all to point, laugh, and be like, "I'm so sure she's that retarded." Obviously I do not suspect a thing, and I trust he would never do anything inappropriate (except that one time he made me pee in an alley. Juuuuuuuuuust kidding), but I wish I could see such photos and not want to throw up in my mouth because it's not my hip his hand holds. Or that he could keep his hands to himself. Or on my hips. You know, whatever.