I usually loath and detest (can abysmal be turned into a verb?) Bridal Showers. But no longer. I have been to my first Bridal Shower down south. It was held in the church parlor, complete with old wooden walls and tapestry upholstery. It smelled like a library at an Ivy League School.

In the center of the room were two large, lo,  massive tables (think Arthur’s round table, the other… a long eating plank as found at such renown establishments as Chuckie Cheese). The round table was to place gifts upon for the happy couple. The other oak constructed (how did they get it in the door?) table held 10 gi-normous layer cakes.

Upon entering the room it was as if I was peaking into the pastel lacy opening of a Sugar Easter Egg gazing upon a slice of heaven…a very large slice!

A small table offered punch with which to swill down the mounds of confection. Coconut cake, yellow cake with chocolate icing, fudge cake with chocolate, lemon cake with tart lemon drizzle, carrot cake with walnuts the size of Buicks. The various frostings came with sour cream cheese cake topping, fondant, whipped cream, thin icing and plain old butter whipped thick icing and of course cherries and strawberries and apricots in their own jam. Be still my heart (literally!).

I wandered about the room politely hip checking some dear soul to get another slice of the carrot cake as my thighs were trembling, verily calling to me, “Feed me, feed me”.

And that, ladies (and a few gentlemen who can  grasp the wonder of this) that was it! Yup, the entire event. Eat cake, lots of cake, throw back some punch, be happy!

And I’ll tell you what there was NOT.

There wasn’t a single game. Praise God and pass the whipped cream! As anyone who has suffered through as many Bridal  Showers as I have (both others and my own) can tell you these things are usually lousy with games: Charades, Musical Chairs, even I’m Guessing the color RED!

I once was forced to play the game where they put a celebrity’s name on your back and you had to guess who you were by asking 3 questions of each one in the room. I found another disgruntled lady who was trying to gnaw the shoulder of her sweater to get the name off her back (Susan Saradon). I made a deal: tell me who I am and I’ll tell you who you are. We did. Then we went to the hostess and turned in our tags for a prize (a pen with a troll on top). She had the chutzpah to accuse us of cheating and spoiling the all the fun. Needless to say Susan and Meg went directly, “Do not pass go”, to O’malley’s for some grown up fun.

Also, there was NOT at this Shower the “Opening of the gifts”. This is a tedious 2 hour or more of oooos and ahhs and UGGs! That ugg would be from the person whose gift is the third of the same item. Or  the emotional pain from realizing you went way too cheap and the $10 gift certificate to Wendy’s wasn’t as cool and magnanimous when held up for all to see.

Nor did the bride to be string up all the bows onto a paper plate and pretend to be walking down the aisle. This (Bow-quet) is often saved and used as a faux bouquet for the wedding rehearsal (cutesy doesn’t begin to describe this rituals).

All there was at this event was cake eating and casual conversation. Finally the women of the south did rise and conquered a major social problem! They realized that grown women buzzed on sugar can talk to each other without a flipping ice breaker game.

These gals bake, make and take the cake and I’m looking forward to the next one!

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