First of all I apologize in advance, I've posted this in several places, so if you run into this more than once I am sorry.
This is the first bit of writing I've done in a year. It's kind of been a rough time for me, and I'm trying to get back into it. It did feel good getting this down on paper. It's just a short story that I've been working on recently. Feedback would be wonderful if you get a chance, just be nice because it's been so long.
Also I just created a blog on blogspot. I'm planning on filling it with some of my writing, poetry, photos, ect. I'm new to blogspot so it would really be great to get a little audience there, if any of you would do that for me.
by R. Murdoch
It was the day before Christmas Eve. I didn’t want to be there, but I was at a baby shower. Not mine of course; it was for my uncle’s wife. They live out of town and I only see them at Christmas time.
I couldn’t recall ever being at a baby shower before. Initially, the idea of going didn’t thrill me but my sister and all of my aunts and my grandmother insisted I went. Everyone was going to be there, and after all, it was their first child.
I got there with my sister, Annie who met up with Nickie, our step cousin and I stood off on my own. People started showing up, and the awkward “hellos” with distant relatives and family friends started to pile up. I’ve never done well at social events. I’m not very social and most of the time I don’t have much to say and I’ve also been told that I come off as dry and pretentious from time to time. That is why I choose to be alone so often. When everyone was finally there and I said hello to everyone that I needed to say it too I stepped out to the bar and spent a few minutes trying to collect myself.
When I re-entered the party room, it was game time. I heard these things entailed games, but I didn’t know how horrible they could be. I saw Nickie had the name “Julia Roberts” taped on to her back. This seemed ridiculous to me so I said,
“Hey Nickie, why is Julia Roberts taped to your back?”
I was subsequently beaten with the pocketbooks of thirty pre-menopausal women who informed me that I had just ruined the game. I stumbled back to my seat, and the only thing that was going through my head was,
“The only reason I’m here is because I don’t have a penis. Christ.”
I sat through the rest of that afternoon. The baby crossword puzzles, the scavenger hunt, the opening of presents, the sobbing of the grandmother to be at the sight of her own gift (which to this day I don’t know what it was). The smoked halibut I had for lunch was wonderful, but even that couldn’t redeem the afternoon that I would never get back.
As the shower came to a close, one of my aunts brought around thank you cards, instructing us to fill out our address on the front of the envelops so my expecting aunt wouldn’t have to go through all of the trouble of looking up the addresses of her guests. I found this to be annoying and lazy. I started to write my address
But then I got to thinking,
“Why make her go to any trouble at all? I’ll fill the card out for her, too! That’s exactly what I’ll do.”
It was one of my better ideas, and read as follows:
Thank you so much for the wonderful baby clothes. I nearly burst into tears when I unwrapped the beautiful package and saw what was inside. My God, you are a wonderful shopper! You have always been my favorite niece, and I would be honored to have you in the delivery room with me when I give birth to your cousin. And remember, if you ever want to come out to the west coast to visit us, don’t hesitate to ask! We’re just a phone call away and will fly you out in second. Thank you again.
The holidays passed as did the next few weeks. Each day I checked my mail, and finally that little white envelop was there for me. I don’t think my aunt appreciated the favor I did for her as on the little white space that was left, my uncle’s hand writing read:
You pretty much summed it all up.