So Exactly Why am I–a Man–Involved with a Baby Shower?

One of my good friends, Greg Rooth, married the love of his life Barbra on October 16th, 2005. It was a beautiful beach wedding, and I of course received my invitation several months prior, which is when I figured out that October 16th, 2005 was a Sunday.

An NFL Sunday.

An NFL Sunday that featured a Tampa Bay Buccaneers home game against the Miami Dolphins in which we had tickets.

I called him.

“What the hell is the matter with you?!?” I said, before he even said hello.

“It’s just the way it worked out, man. Sundays are less expensive, and it worked with our schedules.”

“You’re killing me, man.” I grumbled.

I mean, how could he? What kind of man wouldn’t take enough control of the planning to at least make sure the wedding wasn’t for an NFL Sunday? Not only is he not watching the game, but all his football loving friends now can’t either!

Friggin’ married people.

***

Evi and I met our friend Jenn Robinson for dinner and drinks a couple of weeks ago. Jenn has been nice enough to take the baton and plan Evi’s baby shower. I think a few other people may be involved, but to be perfectly honest, I’d barely paid any attention. I hate all this crap. I’m 46-years-old, and I’ve managed to live all those years without attending any shower that didn’t involve shampoo. I don’t really want to go this one, since my generation was apparently the last one that thought baby showers are a “Girls Only” thing.

Problem: When Evi and I moved from New York City to Southwest Florida, Evi left all of her best and closest friends behind. And in the short time we’ve been here, she’s only made a few friends. Meanwhile, I have a metric ton of friends locally. So, since I love my wife and want her to have a large turnout for her shower, my friends and I have to be involved.

Fine. I can attend a baby shower. I’ll invite my closest friends who have wives or significant others, we’ll have drinks, it’ll be a great time.

But fuck planning it. Thank God for Jenn.

“Okay, I’ve made arrangements with the Rooses,” said Jenn. “They have a beautiful house and have two available dates: September 17th or 24th.”

Evi and I looked at each other. “I guess the 17th,” I said. “Try to keep it as far away from the due date as possible.” Evi agreed.

Later on during the dinner, I asked Jenn: “Hey, what day of the week is that?”

“It’s a Sunday. Both days are Sundays. It was the only day they had available.”

“You gotta be kidding me. You know it’s football season, right?”

“It’s all they had. This is your baby shower. Stop being an idiot.” (Jenn and I are very close which means we’re pretty brutal to each other.)

I sighed. Okay, fine, I’ll peek at my phone during this estrogen-fest. Dammit.

A few hours later it hit me: Holy shit, the whole point of me being involved is so I can invite MY friends and fill up the event with people. But almost all my friends are football fans! When I tell my MALE friends that they have to attend a BABY SHOWER on an NFL SUNDAY they are going to crucify me!

Maybe they’ll understand. I called my friend Bob.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He asked. “Dude, I’m not, well, um, we’ll see.”

I knew what that meant. He ain’t going. Maybe he’ll send his wife.

I texted my friend Deric.

“You’ve converted to the Dark Side,” he snapped back.

“Look, they’ll have a TV on with football.”

“The Patriots play the Saints at 1 PM. I’m going to need some assurances on the football.”

I texted my long time friend and college roommate Eddie.

“Dude you better man up and say when it should or shouldn’t be,” he said.

“I tried.”

“Yeah, you GIVE the days you can do it, you don’t take! C’mon man why are you acting like a rookie here?”

“Because I AM a rookie? I hate this shit!”

The response has been the same from everyone I’ve contacted. I tried calling the Rooses to gently hint at another day of the week, but they were firm that those were the only available dates. And come on, they’re doing us a huge favor hosting it. I didn’t want to complain. So, it is going to be on September 17th. An NFL Sunday. My friends will either not come or hate me when they do.

Thus, Greg Rooth, 12 years later, I officially absolve you of any and all blame for us missing the Bucs game. I now know what this hell feels like.

***

P.S. A few of you expressed interest in Evi’s baby shower registry. Somehow, she has two: An Amazon one and a Babies ‘R’ Us one. But there is no overlap. Obviously, no obligation, but if you’re interested:

The Amazon Baby Shower Gift Registry is HERE

The Babies ‘R’ Us Gift Registry is HERE

UPDATE: Apparently, the posting of this blog yesterday set some wheels in motion, and now the baby shower has been moved to a day when it doesn’t conflict with NFL football. I’m sure this is what God intended. It’s probably even in the Bible somewhere. “Dost thou baby showerth shalt not interfereth with thy Bucs game” is probably what it says.