The truth is I'm lazy. And I can't even be bothered to think much. So I've been neglecting my blog.
But yesterday I was part of a phenomenon we call a "baby shower" in this bizarre culture of ours. The one thing I will say in defense of baby showers is that they are not nearly as godawful as bridal showers. I'm pissed off at all men because they are never, ever expected to attend baby showers (or bridal ones). Bastards.
Actually, I've got nothing against getting together and bestowing onesies, Boppies and assorted baby containment devices at women about to pop out a young'un. And the target of this particular shower happens to be a good friend whom I like very much and I was happy to help shower her with gifts (even though I disapprove of any and all human procreation). But in the world of showerdom, it's not enough just to put out a spread of food and let people drop off a gift, chow down and leave. We have to watch The Opening of the Gifts. Ooh, a onesie. Ahh, a Boppy. Ooh ahh, a baby containment device. I think I missed out on the gene that makes that sort of thing thrilling.
But the worst part of all is that we have to play a game. Usually these games involve something to do with baby names, but as this shower was almost exclusively attended by dog people, specifically agility and flyball folks, we at least got to play a dog-themed game: we divided into teams and competed to see which team could name the most "famous" dogs. Apparently, I discovered, it's considered bad form to actually try to win such a game. My team won. Although I'm still pissed that a robot dog (Daggett from the original Battlestar Galactica) and a puppet dog (Triumph the Insult Comic Dog) were for some reason not allowed, while cartoon dogs were perfecly OK (we got plenty of those).
I hope no one else I know decides to get pregnant.