There are many awesome things about being a chick. Being able to pee sitting down. Using hormones as an excuse for biting someone’s head off.
There is one thing though that makes all the above-listed items shrink away. Something that makes me wish I was a man. Something that if I can’t become a man, really requires me to work super hard in order to find that hidden reserve of estrogen somewhere deep in my soul.
Showers. What a horrible, horrible torture that only women are forced to endure. A horrible torture employed by women, upon other women.
The idiotic games, the shrieks of laughter from 20 chicks at the display of a chip and dip set/onesie/lamp/diaper rash cream/other stupid gift. The forced sitting with people you either don’t know or hoped not to have to see again. I hate the whole process. Especially baby showers where alcohol isn’t even available.
I have attended many showers, wedding and as the wedded started spawning, baby showers. Out of all the showers though, I have never had something seem so contrived as what I will endure tomorrow.
A Grandmother Shower.
I called a reliable source who confirmed this is out of the norm. My mother, a grandmother herself, called it “ridiculous” and “stupid”. Maybe she was just jealous, but when she called the thrower and/or the throwee greedy and self-absorbed, well, who am I to argue.
Lord help me. Think of me tomorrow as I will be forced to smile, shriek in unison and eat finger sandwiches, all while attempting to not stab myself with a plastic knife.
Next week, could you clear your calendar, it is Yoda’s birthday, we are having a party.
Yoda is registered at PetSmart, Macy’s and Wal-Mart.