Why I don’t miss California
A friend forwarded me an email exchange amongst girls in California preparing for a bridal shower – okay, let’s just say I live in the South and last night one of the most embarrassing stories was one of mine and had to do with my first marriage. K took me to get a daquiri one Sunday afternoon before we got married and the daquiri was so large it needed a handle (let’s not mention we got it at a drive-up window) and then we got high – I’m 23 at the time – we had been having sex like rabbits for weeks (months) and I have a monster bladder infection as I am wont to get from nonstop sex – he brings me over to his sister’s house under the auspices of picking something up and I go to the door with him and the door opens and I am overwhelmed by about 50 people inside shouting surprise – well, duh, yes, more like MORTIFIED! – but pièce de résistance is then my brother-in-law, H, says to me as I walk through the door – “hey Rach, heard about your bladder infection, hope you’re feeling better” – which made me just want to take the poison pill right then and there.
But I digress – so here in the South, we tend to still do things old fashionedy like having queer bridal and baby showers that are ridiculously ridiculous and involve things like scooping cotton balls on your head and pinning present bows to a paper plate. But my friend in California today sends me a deal breaker – an email volley that goes on and on about how each shower girl attendee should bring a rock, marble, feather, or other icon that might symbolize the commitment and transition in the bride’s life from lover to wife and then the girls will build an altar – I just have to say, in hindsight, my shower was a helluva lot more fun.