Baby Shower


I am not good at buying baby stuff for baby showers. My breathing goes shallow and it’s like all the tiny, heavily gendered clothing is pressing in on me leaping into my field of vision with its little “Mommy Loves Me” and “Baby Cutie” and “Little Princess!”. So, luckily, when I went to buy some little clothing, Em was at the store. Baby clothes don’t scare her, so she made all my choices and even let me use her employee discount. Then she used her mad wrapping skills to make it all pretty and stuff. Score!



But then I had to actually GO to the baby shower. I’m not good at that either. I generally try to be useful in the kitchen, because if I’m being useful, I don’t feel uncomfortable about all the little clothes and the cooing and stuff that happens at these events.



But the women hosting the shower are a powerful force, and there was nothing to do in the kitchen. So I adopted a strategy I like to call “Eating a lot and nodding enthusiastically” in the hopes that no one would ask me something like when I was going to have one, or, why aren’t I married yet, or, anything, really.I’m just not good at this stuff.



Morgan was allowed to flee, on account of he has a penis. But he fled slowly, with a few passes through the dining room for lox-and-cream cheese mini bagels, potato latkes, cookies, cupcakes, fruit salad, cucumber sandwiches, cream-cheese-and-pepper-jelly rollups and three kinds of cake.. This picture was taken as he was poised, ready to run like a deer at the first signs of delighted female squealing.

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