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GLINT


April Showers 4.28.04

Chicago was good, but the trip overall was a letdown. I am getting used to this feeling. This is kind of the running theme with me right now; examples abound: The wine at dinner was sublime, but the meal lackluster; the one scene in that Eternal Sunshine movie made me teary, but overall the movie blows; the sex was good but overall the relationship was foolishly overdone. You get the idea.

Granted, the trip was tarnished by its reason for happening—my brother’s fiancé’s BRIDAL SHOWER. Excuse me. […] Ok, I’m back. The mere mention of those two words is enough to make me vomit. I must purge the experience fully from my utterly bridal-intolerant system. btw, my BS vomit is white and lacy, full of shiny ribbons and silvery wrapping paper and about five gobzillion Crate and Barrel receipts. Oh, yes and it is full of CARBS—my new other most hated thing in the entire world. Yeah. I wish we could vomit only carbs up and retain the good parts of bad food for purposes of actually providing sustenance and maintaining our homeostatic functioning. What a novel idea, ladies! Because obviously the carbs are killing us all as we are sitting and watching the bride-to-be toss around thousands of dollars worth of merchandise, strangely almost all of which appears to have to do with food—the preparation of; the storage of; the presentation of…

So much talk of carbs. Can’t we just sit around and talk about FAT and how much we hate that? Rather than having women surreptitiously eying my plate and chatting about the evils of the Ritz cracker, rather than scrutinizing everything that is good to eat and vilifying it? Or can’t we just be bitchy and catty about how FAT everyone else looks because they are consuming CARBS with reckless abandon? I mean, come ON. A piece of noodle should not make one feel cavalier and irresponsible. That should be reserved for the German chocolate seven-layer cake or the heroin spike in your vein or something a little bit dangerous and fun! Yah!

Shower me with love, shower me with kisses, but do not shower me with brides. No bridal shower for me. I think my pops and I were the only people who were a little taken aback by the crass gimmee-gimmeeness of it all. And, no! Of course he was not sullying the virginal, bridal purity of the event—he and brother and brothers-in-law and the favah-of-the-bride, etc. all went out to manly lunch and came back at the end. Poor my dad. But poor me even more. Crazy other sister-in-law (married to one of the affianced’s brothers) ran the whole show like she would have been stellar at organizing a slightly less happy kind of shower—the kind where she might be screaming “schnell, schnell!” and then you go in and…oh, what a gas! That kind. In fact I think she was doing a little schnell-screaming. She was so businessy, so uber-organized, I tried to retreat to a corner and just smirk at her but that would never do. First I got handed a paper plate and was instructed to “make the bouquet.” Huh? The plate was whisked from me and handed off to some other sistah and then she said, “You. Repack.” Ok. How hard could that be?

Basically, I ended up spending the afternoon running boxes out of the party area, to a restaging area where I had to repack them and ensure the proper card was attached, etc. and it was the equivalent of someone I don’t know very well asking me to help them move. And they hadn’t even finished packing. And they made me rush. Have you ever tried to shove a lead crystal cake plate back into its intricate cardboard packing system in about ten seconds? It isn’t easy. But of course I couldn’t really complain. I would’ve looked bad. But not as bad as if my leetle sister had complained—not that she really minded any of it anyhow. My sister has so much invested in her performance at these kinds of things now because SHE is to be Madame Bride in a scant 8 months, and she knows all her behavior will reflect on her own pampering and registry receipts…Ah. Bridal karma. All I’ve got to say is that my brother better be hosting one kick-ass lobster dinner in the near future because they got every last motherloving lobster eating accoutrement known to mankind and Martha's Vineyard. He looked a little confused at it all, like, “Pinch me! I must be dreaming! No, I mean Pinchy...yummy Pinchy...” Haha.

No, really. All I’ve got to say is that the affianced’s family is really nice and her dad offered to hypnotize my sister to cure her of her fear of flying (It’s all good: he’s a shrink, she’s a nut. She had a panic attack on the flight out and I turned to the guy next to us and said, “Now you know what she sounds like in bed.” I was trying to make her laugh so she’d stop hyperventilating and going “omygodohmygod.”). There was a lot of good eating. And I saw the Cubbies. And I drank whiskey with B. And I laughed really hard with my sister. And hung out with my aunt. And I realized I am going to have to host my sister’s bridal shower. Guess who's getting the job of repacking? Bridal karma,indeed...(cue maniacal laughter...)

* Shameless self-promotion: To compare this with my love of Baby Showers, click here.


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