Letter Bombs

There is only one thing I dread receiving more than correspondence from the IRS, and that is receiving an invitation to a "shower."

Yesterday I received both. Not a good day to get the mail.

For those who don't know, a "shower" is held prior to an upcoming wedding or an impending birth. In effect women are called upon to "shower" the affianced or pregnant woman with gifts.

There are insufferable hours involved. Hours of making the jubilarian a hat out of a paper plate and bows culled from the beautifully wrapped presents. Hours of sipping nauseatingly sweet champagne and ice cream punch. Hours of playing games involving one's knowledge of the groom or how many baby names there are on the planet. Hours of watching the betrothed or expectant open gift after gift after gift, oohing and aahing and passing around for all to admire and ogle.

It is pure, unadulterated torture.

No matter how much one loves the celebrant, assuming that one has even met her, the showering process is an arduous one, not for the feint of heart. No matter how good the food or gooey the cake, more often than not I have been left asking myself, "Why didn't I just send a gift?"