The Baby Shower

I’m convinced that the less people know you, the more they like you.  This became apparent to me as my house became completely transformed last night in preparation for my daughter’s baby shower scheduled for next Sunday.  I mean, we have no idea if this new human being will be a wonderful person or a total asshole, but the biggest party of this kid’s life is being held in his honor next Sunday.  To prepare for this grand event, extensive discussions have been held every day for the past three or four months about the menu, the seating arrangements, the games to be played, the size of the coffee urn to be rented, the tablecloths, the way to control the traffic flow of the guests, etc.  I mean, not to sound like I’m feeling neglected or ignored or insignificant, but this unborn kid’s baby shower is all that everybody in this family has been talking about at breakfast, lunch, dinner, while in the shower, while in bed, while driving to Babies R Us to buy stupid shit, and while people are beating the shit out of each other at Donald Trump’s rallies.  Nobody in this family gives a shit about the presidential primaries, the terrorist attack in Belgium, the Final Four tournament or the new IPhone.  Never in my life has any party or discussion been held about me or any other “born” person I know that resembles this.  Monarchs, heads of state, Mother Theresa, the Dalai Lama, the Pope, the Kardashians, and every other living person do not receive this much attention.  Once you’re born, it’s all downhill.  The more people get to know you, the less they like you.  Not until you die do they ever give you the amount of personal attention and adulation that you get at your baby shower.  I used to be afraid of death, but now I’m looking forward to it.

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