When I was laid up with my shoulder surgery, I agreed -- no, I volunteered -- to do the baby shower games. On Vicodin, it sounded like fun. On vicodin and without a job, it seemed reasonable. But in the doing, it was no different than running activities in a nursing home. I'm sure I've talked about that. Remind me to write about the time we went to the petting zoo. Or the time we tried to have a carnival in the nursing home parking lot and back yard, complete with a dunk tank and cotton candy machine. I'm sure there are worse things than making cotton candy in the dead heat of august in Southern Oregon after being awake for five days straight, maybe you know of something, but for me, it is near the top of the list of things not to do again.
So, yes. I arranged the baby shower games. But here's the thing: acts that are motivated by guilt instead of generosity just don't work. (Not to mention the vicodin) and guilt was definitely driving the bus. The girl who is having the baby is not my type, but her husband is my husband's friend. And I felt some responsibility to her. Wrongly. But once I was in, I couldn't figure out how to get out.
We played the stupid pin game. We played a diaper game. We played a paint the onesie game.
I hated it. It made me feel like a stranger.
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