Stacy's Shower

 "Where should we sit," Sydney whispered as we walked into the bridal shower party. I glanced around. The bride's mother was surrounded by friends and family so it would look a little weird if we weaseled in at that table. My friend Donna was also very popular so we ruled her table out as well. "We could sit with Stacy," Sydney suggested. "Savannah would kill us," I told her, wincing as I recalled the last conversation that I had with my eldest daughter who had yelled at me about attending the shower. "But Stacy and I ARE friends," I argued, "Remember how she used to leave me secret notes when you guys were in school? We had to have a secret friendship because you were (are) so mean." "You are just going to Stacy's shower to be a jerk to me because I CAN'T go," Savannah accused. "I am going," I stated firmly, "for several reasons. One:  I know and like Stacy and her family and was honored to be invited. Two: I was planning to represent you in your absence. And Three: Sydney and I are well on our way towards crossing "Tour every Masonic Temple in Wyoming County" off our Bucket Lists."

The view Wild Bill warned us about

We scrambled unobtrusively to a table in the back. "Thank goodness for Wild Bill Hickok," Sydney said, relieved. "Why," I asked. "If it weren't for Daddy's story about how Wild Bill always sat with his back to the wall, look what we'd be facing," she explained, pointing. I laughed at the thought of the two of us, seated at an empty table set for twelve, facing AWAY from the party towards the wall. "Remember...Wild Bill still got shot," I reminded her before squealing happily, "Oooo...a mini marshmallow!" and plucking it up from the snack cup and tossing it in my mouth. "Not a marshmallow, was it," Sydney grinned. Buttercream hard mint. Sigh. Wish I liked buttercream hard mints.

Sydney with her fun fork. Also...our view of the party.

We joined the throngs of happy people at the appetizer buffet. I admired the crockpot of meatballs. "Are these plastic cups set here to fill with meatballs," I whispered to Sydney. The bride's mother, Teresa, was quick to answer, "Oops...they were accidentally set there because they have holes in the bottom." "Second disaster averted," Sydney tallied before squealing happily, "Look fun forks!" "You don't need a fun fork," I scolded, trying to marginalize our embarrassing behavior before the report was sent to Savannah. "Sydney...you can take a fun fork," Teresa said, glaring at me as she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger, "take two if you want." "Remind me to buy Stacy's first-born a drum-set to keep at Grandma's house," I hissed at my daughter who proceeded to poke me with her fun fork.

"Wow...someone worked really hard on the decorations," Sydney said as I contemplated blowing into our conch shell centerpiece to announce gift-opening time. Maid-of-honor, Brooke paused amidst her many important responsibilities to show us her multiple hot glue gun injuries. "The Save-the-Date cards were the wrong color," she explained, "so I had to paint them." WHAT?!?! This was in addition to tying the little knot decorations to attach with the sea shell accessories. "It was nothing," she said modestly as Sydney and I raved about the amount of work that she put into this endeavor, "Once I figured out how to glue the sand on, it sped right up." WHAT?!?!!? She glued sand!?!?!?

It was gift opening time. "Did someone blow the conch?" I asked.

"No one really found me all that funny at this party," I told Savannah later. "I could have predicted that, Mom," Savannah sighed.

A gift was opened. "It's a dutch oven," Brooke announced to the room. There was a brief moment of silence while we digested this news. "With a lid!" Stacy added with excitement. Sydney and I exploded into thunderous applause. When everyone was done staring at us, I whispered, "Okay...it's not a clapping crowd." We responded to the unveiling of the next gift (exciting beige towels..."Mom, I think those might be taupe," Sydney corrected gently) with an enthusiastic "Woo!" "Boo to the woo," I whispered, "What are we suppose to do?" We quickly discovered that Sydney and I are incapable of sitting in silence during the gift-opening process. "Maybe if they had background music," I suggested. Sydney and I immediately began to hum the Battle Hymn of the Republic until Teresa glared at us, a lock of her hair practically cutting off circulation to her finger. "She's right," I agreed, "we need a more event-appropriate song." We segued over to T-Swizzle's Love Story, managing to hit a couple of the notes properly. Teresa's finger was practically purple by this time and I was afraid that she was going to rip that perfectly-formed curl right out of her head. It was at this time that Stacy elected to open our slightly-inappropriate card. Fearing for her mother's health and my safety, I reminded Stacy that not everything is meant to be read out loud.

It was time to go. "So soon?" Teresa asked, clearly devastated. "What time does the party bus leave?" I asked Stacy's friend Lindsey. Her drink matched her dress. She quickly took a sip to avoid answering.

"You DID not try to get invited to the Bachelorette Party, DID you?" Savannah yelled. "I was kidding," I protested.

 We exited the building. "This is definitely on my top three of Masonic Temples in Wyoming County," Sydney said, shielding her eyes with the Save-the-Date card to take in the architecture. "When is the wedding again?" I asked her. "I wonder where we'll sit," Sydney mused as I glanced at the card. We both sighed. Based on our behavior today, it didn't look promising.