I hate showers. Oh, not the kind of showers that involve water and shampoo, but the kind of showers you receive an invitation to attend, baby showers, bridal showers, etc.

I remembered that fact as I watched the perky, sister-in-law of my best friend, the mother-to-be, as she stood in front of her fireplace, “leading” us in another one of the ridiculous games women engage in at these parties. We had already been through the “poopy diaper” game, the “clothespin game” and the “can you remember and name all the baby items on the tray” game, when she dropped the bomb.

“Okay now ladies, I want everyone to go retrieve their purses from the foyer and come back.” Our animated leader instructed us.

WHAT?! WHY? I wanted to scream… nicely of course. What could she possibly want with my purse? I must have been the only one who was concerned because the rest of the women got up, like robots, not hesitating, not even questioning and started to head to the foyer to get their handbags. Some women even stayed seated, just nonchalantly asking one of the other women to grab their purse for them!

Not I, I began to rehearse a plan that would get me out of this stupid game. I mean I am no under cover agent with top-secrets kept in my pocketbook, but I did have a half-eaten candy bar and, a dirty sock I used to scrub the bugs off my windshield, as well as a truly embarrassing romance novel complete with shirtless hero with long hair blowing in the breeze on the front. No way was I revealing the contents of my purse. Spilling forth my inner self before a bunch of chattering women who would love to see what I carried with me to use as fodder for their gossip. I refused to be a victim!

As I rose from the couch I began to see if I could make myself vomit. I had known a girl in high school who could make herself vomit whenever she wanted. The “gift” kept her home from school on many a test day. Oh how I longed for that special power right now but all I could muster was a rather nasty little belch.

On the way to the foyer I looked around for ways I could possibly feign injury to myself. Tripping over the ornamental rug in the hallway, falling on the potted plant beside the door, jumping off the second story…that one might be hard to explain. As I ruled at each possibility one by one, the foyer grew nearer and the din of the chattering women around me grew louder.

“Why do you think she wants us to get our purses?” One of the hens pecked to another.

I listened closely, could this woman share my fear and concern? Could I rely on her to help me begin a mutiny? A small coup is all we would need, women tend to fold easily at these events, they don’t like risking a party-spoiling scene.

I was drawing up beside my potential conspirator when I heard the women she was walking with say, “Oh it’s fun, I played it at the last baby shower I went to. You just have to empty the contents of your purse into a brown bag and …” I didn’t hear the rest because I fainted, well figuratively fainted, I didn’t fall down or anything but my vision went dim and I began to perspire. So I was supposed to basically stand naked before these women! Oh curse the evil mind that came up with this form of female persecution!

I spotted my bag sitting on the floor next to the coat rack. I could so easily grab it and head out the front door, forgetting my “pregnant-with-first-child”, best-friend since fourth grade. I could find another best-friend, one who wouldn’t have such a perky sister- in- law who came up with lame games used to humiliate women who brought gifts. I BROUGHT GIFTS! Geezo, you bring the honored guest gifts and they make you participate in suburban torture with these games.

I saw the guest of honor, the mother to be, the best friend of mine whom I was contemplating ditching, reach down and grab her purse as well as mine. She looked up and smiled, saying casually “Don’t worry I’ve got your purse.” And with that she tucked both bags under her arm and began to waddle past me.

Maybe she’ll go into labor before she reaches the end of the hallway, my mind raced. I followed her numbly back into the living room, I was all out of plans! What could I do now? Knock down a pregnant woman, grab my purse and THEN run out the door? I was pretty sure if I did that word would get around amongst all women, everywhere and I would never find another best friend. I’d probably end up in an e-mail smear campaign, where the story would be forwarded over and over again as an urban legend warning of the crazy woman who attacks pregnant women at baby showers.

As I came into the living room, there she was sitting in the middle of the chicken coop, hens clucking all around her, my purse clutched securely in her little, pregnant fingers.

I was fighting the feeling of defeat and surrender that began to wash over me as I slumped down onto an ottoman across from the purse thief. “Perky-Girl” began her explanation of the anguish we were all about to endure and as she brought out the paper bags, my eyes were focused on my cognac leather hobo bag with the silver zipper.

My friend was chatting as she emptied her purse into a brown paper bag. She had put my purse down! I reached for it and as I felt the soft Italian leather I almost cried.

“Yes!” I actually did cry that out loud, because every eye in the room was on me now…kneeling on the ground clutching my handbag to my chest. “Perky” looks at me strangely and hands me a brown paper bag. “Just dump out your purse in there” she tells me.

With all eyes still on me I slowly sat back down on the ottoman and opened my purse and the paper sack, there was no way out for me now, total disclosure was imminent. It was then that I saw a scale with a diaper bag on top and, on the diaper bag was a piece of paper with “16 pounds” written on it. What was this?

“Ladies, what we’re going to do is weigh the contents of your purses and whose ever weighs the closest to the diaper bag’s weight of 16 pounds, wins!” Sgt. Baby Shower explains.

That’s it? No exposure, no bearing my soul for all to see? As the women handed over their brown paper bags one by one to be weighed I almost laughed with relief. I smiled as I handed my sack over and after it was weighed sat back down. Oh life was funny when you’re Drama Queen.

I began talking with my best friend, the mother-to-be, as the winner was announced and all of a sudden I felt all eyes on me again. “What? I’m the winner?!” I jumped up and grabbed my prize hugging it like an Oscar and blubbered, “I love Baby Showers!”

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©2007 by Jen Harp 

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