This past weekend I was forced to go to an event that I would rather wash my eyes out with bleach than attend . . . the dreaded BRIDAL SHOWER. Dun dun duuuuuuunnnnnn.
I hate any type of Shower. Be it Bridal, Wedding, Golden . . . I am not a fan. Actually, I would almost rather you pee on me than have to sit through 3 hours of awkward social interaction and forced joviality at seeing other people open presents. Almost.
We’ve all been there. Well, if you have a vagina you have. Some men have been forced to do these things as well recently, what with the new “couples shower” trend. And to that I say . . . Ha Ha!! Oh, sorry. But really. Us women get the short end of this stick. Guys are never expected to ooh and aah over tiny little pink bibs and blankets while eating canapés around a bunch of women you probably don’t even know. Lucky bastards. So, if you get dragged into one of these events, and you have a penis, I can’t find the strength to summon any pity for your plight. I’ve been in hell far too long to have any empathy for new arrivals.
Now, here’s the thing. I have had 2 showers thrown for me in my life. First for wedding, then for first baby. So, I might sound like a hypocrite when I state my intense dislike for these things. But let’s get real. I hated both of mine as well. Nobody likes these things, unless they are deranged. Not the attendees, the guest of honor and most certainly not the people throwing the fucking things. I have been that person as well. Numerous times. Just stab me in the ear with a tiny shrimp fork right now.
But showers are not about enjoyment. No. They are about one thing and one thing only. Presents. They are a socially mandated excuse for massive amounts of gifts. That is it. Well, that and drinking, but that might just be me. Lots and lots of drinking.
The problem is the people who do not realize the purpose for these showers. The women who take these things way too seriously. The women that want these events to last for hours and hours, to be able to ooh and aah over every single teensy tiny baby outfit and/or serving dish, to play endless ridiculous games. These women are usually the aunts and/or mother of the bride/momma-to-be. Hateful hateful women.
At each of my own showers, I begged and pleaded. I bargained. I cried. I demanded and put my foot down. Both feet!! But alas, I did not get my way. I was told that it was the way of these things. That it must be done. So I eventually was overruled and had to succumb to the inevitable . . . sitting there and opening every single one of those damn gifts at the party so that I could hear the requisite cooing over the cuteness of the items or usefulness of the crockpots. Gah.
This past weekend was actually relatively painless as showers go. I mean, still hell, but more of a nice roasting rather than an all-consuming hellfire and brimstone sort of feeling. I actually knew a couple of people so I could sit there and chat (i.e. snark) for the duration. They had alcohol and luckily my niece was there to actually serve me with pomegranate champagne (sounds odd, but it was yummy!) and get me numerous refills. Also, pretty much the moment the bride-to-be walked in the door, her mom sat her right down and she started to open presents. And she ripped through those suckers in about an hour. Then there was food and cake. All in all, it was better than most I have been to where the bride/momma mingles for an hour or so and then there are forced games and then they open presents. This was refreshing. I’m not even going to mention the 2 games they played. Mostly because I had a nice buzz, continued chatting with my SIL and completely ignored their existence. I am oh so sad that I didn’t win either the glass votive holder or the tiny little change purse that were the prizes.
My niece and I decided that for the next shower we attend, possibly hers if she will get around to getting engaged any time soon (this was her brother’s fiance’s shower by the way), that there would be rules. No present opening (we’ll see if that happens . . . I know her mom), no games, and every time someone says ooh or aah over something adorable . . . DRINK! Any discussion of the (wink) wedding night (wink) . . . DRINK! Any talk of giving birth/pain/worth it . . . DRINK! Anytime someone tells their own story about their wedding/birth of their baby . . . DRINK!
You get the idea. Pretty much we will be sloshed within the first half hour. Guaranteed. That will be the Best. Shower. EVER!
Worst shower story? Any other ideas for what we should drink to? Wanna see the most horrifically disturbing cake I have ever laid eyes on? Ok, but I’m warning you . . . it’s pretty damn creepy . . .