Stranger Showers

A little envelope came in the mail today.  Any woman knows the kind I mean -- an invitation lurks inside.  If you recognize the return address, this could be good or bad news.  If you don't recognize it, this is almost definitely bad news.

The little envelope was addressed to "Christina Tobin" who I'm assuming is supposed to be me.  Strike One.  I don't recognize the return address.  Strike Two.  Reading the invitation, I see it's for a baby shower and I have no idea who the father, mother or RSVP contact are.  Strike Three and I am NOT outta here because I ain't going!

I sit down.  I think.  Who are these people?  Are they sending invitations to random people to drum up gifts like a Facebooker padding their friend list?  I'm confused and annoyed.  Then I notice the town where the shower is being held and I figure it out -- the proud papa-to-be is Tom's much younger step-cousin whom I've never met.  I'd bet $1,000 that if he walked past Tom on a deserted street, Tom wouldn't know who he was.  I'm supposed to give up a precious weekend afternoon for him?

Doubt it.  Soooo not happening.  I hate showers as it is -- I didn't even enjoy my own -- and there is no way I'm putting myself through that kind of torture for a stranger.  Sure, the happy couple is loosely connected to Tom's family and some might say attending these mind-numbing "parties" is a wife's duty but I call bullshit on that.  If I didn't even know that you were pregnant, I shouldn't have to "celebrate" at your shower. If you don't even know my correct name, ditto.  If I don't know you at all, then why on earth would anyone think that I am obligated to buy a gift and waste many hours on a stranger and a child I will never even meet?  In my opinion, I'm not.  Emily Post might disagree.  Emily Post can kiss my butt.