I have this amazing
friend. She’s beautiful, she’s smart,
she’s funny, she has an awesome husband who is, gasp, a Lawyer! AND she has a cute as hell three year-old boy. For the most part, she’s a SAHM who can party
like a rock star in Vegas while simultaneously planning a killer playdate. So basically, I
hate love her.
She got knocked up with their second child. I truly could not have been happier.
And then it came time to plan the baby shower.
Oh, the horror!
Before I go any further, let me assuage my Jewish guilt by saying that these are a fabulous group of women. Some are mommies, some work and we all have one thing in common . . . . we belong to the same “Mahjong” group.
However, we play Mahjong about as often as mommies who say they are in “Book Clubs” actually read the books. In other words; never. But on those rare occasions when we can all manage to get together, we can put away a few killer bottles of wine. Who am I kidding?? We can put away a LOT of killer bottles of wine. At the beginning of the night, the wine is of more than above average quality; but towards the end of the evening, we’ve worked ourselves to a level just slightly above Franzia.
(And if my piece-of-shit ex-husband's divorce attorney is reading this . . . . well then, fuck you. I'm just kidding.)
Nevertheless, when it comes to planning a baby shower, wedding shower, engagement shower, couples shower . . . (I just realized how much it rains in the South), these ladies want to bring out the china, the silver and order flowers.
For fuck’s sake.
The problem here is that
these are the same ladies who I’ve seen do shots of bad tequila at the local
Don’t . . . . try . . . . to . . . . fool . . . .me or anybody else acting like you just got out of a Cotillion meeting at the local Country Club.
I’ve held your hair back over a toilet before and I can assure you it wasn’t because of “morning sickness”.
So planning one the above mentioned “showers” takes more time and effort with this crew as moving the Third Battalion into DaNang.
I can stay fairly engaged in the conversation when we start talking about the basics: who will host, whose in charge of food, drinks (THE most important job), favors, gifts . . . .etc. It’s really not that complicated.
HOWEVER, as soon as the conversation turns to silver vs. china, stemmed wineglass versus stem-less and (my least favorite) floral arrangements, I have mentally, physically, emotionally, verbally and textually checked out of the conversation. I’m done. I’m a single working mommy and on my long list of priorities, figuring out if we should use the Baccarat or the Waterford is just enough to make me want to start smashing all of that crystal with a sledgehammer.
Please don’t misunderstand me. These are not junior cast-members-in-waiting for the “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” who spend the vast majority of the day thinking about shit like this. They just want to throw a very special party for a very special friend and since we are all in our late 30s, the number of any type of shower left to plan is dwindling to zero rapidly.
But please excuse me if I show up to the shower wearing yoga pants that I slept in, my hair in a ponytail and my favorite ball cap on my head. I was waaaaaaay too busy taking care of other things.
You know, like my imaginary kid.