Baby Love

Jen and I, post Sunday book binge, stopped by the Frog and Peach for coffee. (Honest and fer reals, it WAS coffee. OK, coffee by way of Dublin. Sue me)

The joint was jammed. It’s early afternoon on a Sunday and they’re packed. Why? Warum? Per quale motivo? Apparently they do vibrant, hot biz with the wedding and baby shower crowd.

Huh.

There were two separate Estrogen Fests going down yesterday. The group on the other side of the bar from us, hogging the warm cozy fireplace, were baby showering. Yup, in a bar. I thought on that and, well, what could possibly be more appropriate. Honest and serious now. One last bash before 18 years of always being the adult. ALWAYS having to be the mature and giving one. Makes perfect sense to me.

Engrossed as I was in my brandy new, mega elitist, deeply intellectual tome (My Life as a White Trash Zombie) I wasn’t paying them any mind.

Jen shakes my shoulder and asks, ‘Notice anything funny about that group of baby partiers?’

Me: ‘Wut? Huh?'

Jen: “They’re all dressed in black.’

Me: ‘K’

Jen: ‘It’s a BABY shower!’

Me: ‘Maybe it’s for Rosemary’s Baby or the next Damien or, hey, maybe the Son of Sam is gonna get a little brother or sister.

This could totally be appropriate and besides, the balloon bouquets are all opalescent white. They could be doing a Franz Kline sort of thing here. Maybe they’re all hipster art history types’

And then a heavily made up (I believe Jackson Pollack was her cosmetics advisor), neon blond sashayed by. Her artfully torn jeans, artistically dusted with sprays of rhinestone, were so tight that I’m quite certain, major arteries were being choked to an early death. Blondie’s salmon colored stilettos were nosebleed-worthy.

She was awesome plus and headed for the imminent, anklebiter festivities.

Me: ‘Huh? So it’s now de rigueur to have strippers at your baby showers? Damn, I am SO out of the loop.’