I recently attended a truly lovely wedding shower. I was seated next to a woman who is, like me, firmly in the mother-of-the-bride demographic.
While watching the bride open gifts, I realized there should be a second wave of showering. The most recent showering either of us had was in the early 1990s.
While marveling at the bride’s new array of insulated casserole totes, I composed a mental inventory of what remained from my 1991 wedding showers. Only two random forks and three pieces of Corningware French White bakeware have survived what life has dished out since our nuptials.
I whispered to my new shower friend: “We deserve a shower but something more menopausal than bridal. Is that a thing?” My shower-friend-sister-woman looked at me like I’d struck gold.
In the interest of helping women who’ve only a single napkin ring left to show from long-ago wedding showers, I propose a new party theme. Welcome to the soirée for no longer blushing brides.
We get to register, oh yes, we do. Several friends chimed in with help on what we might put on our wise registry. We want a laundry service, maid service, and an errand boy instead of formal china or a toaster oven. We are just over most “things.” We want a staff.
If you must bring us something to unwrap, we’d like his and hers thermostats. Moreover, instead of one giant quilt, we’d like two blankets, and a personal fan that turns on and off depending on your hot flash stage — also, earplugs.
Another common suggestion for the older gal shower gift is experiences. We’ll take a trip to Italy or gift cards to Olive Garden if Tuscany is out of your price range.
We do agree that new towels and fancy sheets would be nice, so in that aspect, we are in sync with the young bride. But instead of formal china we’d like a new set of pots and pans, because really, where is that lid? Alternatively, may we suggest a service of twelve blinged-out eyeglass readers in various magnification powers? Of course, alcohol is always tasteful.
We do need a catchy name for this shindig. Shower implies young, sweet, gentle, fresh. I propose we call this new party category, The Squall. Squalls are strong, violent, quick, sure to lower your temperature, release pressure, and rinse out the gutters. The second definition of squall, “to scream loudly,” applies as well.
I think this also opens a new category of “reveals.” Back when we were all having sonograms, the tech gave us the non-committal, “It’s probably a girl.” Or the sentimental, “There’s the scrotum.” To celebrate we went back to work.
Now there’s dyed cupcake filling, confetti exploding out of balloons, or pink or blue fireworks, to announce the gender. We want a piece of that.
What if we had Mammogram Results Reveals? “It’s dense breast tissue!” Wands of wet Kleenex shoot out from a cannon. “It’s only a cyst!” Candy drops from a breast-shaped pinata. If it’s not a cyst maybe candy also drops? Because shower-friend-sister-woman we’re here for you. I guess the “reveal” event at our age needs work. Still, I’m registering for my Squall at Marry Maids and Travelocity.
The only party game at a Squall? If a pair of blinged-out readers are under your seat you get to leave the centerpiece.
Originally published in the Monroe News
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