Bridal Showers Aren't For Wimps
My very good friends decided that I needed a bridal shower a few weeks before my nuptials, which, if you've ever given a shower, you appreciate even more as the guest of honor. Those bad boys suck up all of your free time and money, and if the hosts are still speaking to each other afterwards, you consider it a success.
As with most showers, this one involved female relatives on my side and my fiancé's side, as well as my friends. Great, I thought, this gives all of the important women in my life a chance to get to know each other before the big day. And the way they got to know each other was to tell "Tori" stories. Not stories about how swell or accomplished I was-no, that wouldn't be any fun, would it?
It started innocently enough. Whoever won the two games we played at the shower got to tell a story about either me or my future husband, depending on which side of the family the winner was from. As luck would have it, both winners were from my side.
My step-mother won the first game, but she couldn't come up with any stories that could be told in the presence of my future in-laws. I helped her with that one, prompting her on a sweet story about how, the very first time she met Jeff, shortly after we began dating, she asked me when we could start planning the wedding. Aww…a precious tale involving the bride and groom and how happy everyone was about the union.
And then my friend won the second game-and she didn't get the memo about relating a sweet little story. "Remember the time you wanted to microwave a can of pop because it was too cold?" she laughed.
As everyone started giggling, someone asked, "How old was she?"
"Oh, that was last year," my friend answered.
And there went any previous notions my future in-laws may have had of me as an intellectual-as opposed to a moron who caught microwaves on fire by trying to take the chill off of a Dr. Pepper.
There were several other doozies in there, but I won't bore you-or further embarrass myself-with the details.
I'm now days away from the traditional bachelorette party, complete with "personal shower." Did I mention that my mom is hosting that? So if we take into account the precedent set by the previous shower, here are the ingredients for this one: embarrassing stories, my mother, and lingerie. I have a feeling there will not be a column devoted to that particular shower in the future. TPW
As with most showers, this one involved female relatives on my side and my fiancé's side, as well as my friends. Great, I thought, this gives all of the important women in my life a chance to get to know each other before the big day. And the way they got to know each other was to tell "Tori" stories. Not stories about how swell or accomplished I was-no, that wouldn't be any fun, would it?
It started innocently enough. Whoever won the two games we played at the shower got to tell a story about either me or my future husband, depending on which side of the family the winner was from. As luck would have it, both winners were from my side.
My step-mother won the first game, but she couldn't come up with any stories that could be told in the presence of my future in-laws. I helped her with that one, prompting her on a sweet story about how, the very first time she met Jeff, shortly after we began dating, she asked me when we could start planning the wedding. Aww…a precious tale involving the bride and groom and how happy everyone was about the union.
And then my friend won the second game-and she didn't get the memo about relating a sweet little story. "Remember the time you wanted to microwave a can of pop because it was too cold?" she laughed.
As everyone started giggling, someone asked, "How old was she?"
"Oh, that was last year," my friend answered.
And there went any previous notions my future in-laws may have had of me as an intellectual-as opposed to a moron who caught microwaves on fire by trying to take the chill off of a Dr. Pepper.
There were several other doozies in there, but I won't bore you-or further embarrass myself-with the details.
I'm now days away from the traditional bachelorette party, complete with "personal shower." Did I mention that my mom is hosting that? So if we take into account the precedent set by the previous shower, here are the ingredients for this one: embarrassing stories, my mother, and lingerie. I have a feeling there will not be a column devoted to that particular shower in the future. TPW