David Attenborough Presents: A Single Thirty-Something Female Attending A Baby Shower Hungover
Our hungover thirty-something is the last to arrive. As she enters the front door of the mother-to-be’s single-family domicile, all eyes turn to her. She is startled by the attention and her cheeks flush, as she had hoped to sneak in undetected.
This is no ordinary baby shower; this is the coed baby shower, which means that both males and children will be present. For the single thirty-something female, this starkly increases the discomfort level of the event, as it highlights both her lack of a mate and offspring quite effectively.
It also results in both the males and females inquiring endlessly into her dating life, under the guise of concern, but with subtle undertones of the envy that comes with having already settled down. They have checked off more of the compulsory milestones humans covet than our thirty-something, but they also miss the thrill of the hunt.
Take notice of the males who will use this opportunity to linger near the single thirty-something, as they aren’t typically allowed by their mates to enter situations where they might encounter single twenty and thirty-something females.
Here comes one now. Our thirty-something has barely had time to drop her gift on the gift table before a male swoops in to hug her inappropriately. When unattached females are present, this particular breed of male tends to feel as though they are entitled to touch the female, simply due to the lack of another male suitor, a classic symptom of patriarchal society.
Our thirty-something has clearly been in this position before, as she terminates the hug before he can maneuver his hand down to her lower lumbar/upper buttocks region, and gracefully steps away to find the hostess.
The mother-to-be has spotted our thirty-something, and makes a spectacle of standing up, one hand on her pregnant belly, and waddling over to our thirty-something. They hug, and the gestating female comments that our thirty-something smells like tequila. “I remember those days,” she remarks smugly, rubbing her bulging abdomen.
This is classic female peacocking behavior, where one female asserts her superiority to the other due to her status in life. In this case, possession of a mate, a single-family home, and the developing fetus in her belly.
Our thirty-something may choose to rebut with a snarky comment, highlighting the advantages of her unattached life, or smile and acquiesce to the hostess. Being hungover, she lacks the vigor for such a passive-aggressive exchange, and opts for the obligatory smile.
It’s time for the opening of the gifts. The one fortunate thing about the coed baby shower is that the inane rituals, known as “Baby Shower Games,” are eliminated.
It’s not fully understood why the females subject themselves to activities such as sniffing a diaper filled with counterfeit feces in order to identify the variety of melted chocolate bar, or sucking on an ice cube with a miniature version of an infant frozen inside to see who can melt it first, but will not subject the males to such rituals. Perhaps it is a form of self-denigration that the females have accepted as normal.
The mother-to-be has selected our thirty-something’s gift to open next. She opens the package to reveal a tiny, pink pair of baby headphones, used for the purpose of noise cancellation. Babies are incapable of operating Spotify, so these headphones serve as a defense for their delicate cochleas from loud music or offensive language. The crowd of thirty-somethings emits a collective “Awww,” signaling that they approve of the offering; a small victory for our thirty-something.
Once the attention has shifted to the next gift, our thirty-something discreetly helps herself to a mimosa, a mixture of champagne and orange juice. Mostly champagne. She is utilizing “the hair of the dog,” hoping it will stave off immediate symptoms of her hangover. She will suffer through them later, when she may hibernate in the silence and darkness of her bedding canopy. However, one more obstacle remains before our thirty-something is able to migrate.
One of the mothers offers her infant to our thirty-something, extending the miniature human with outstretched arms.
“Do you want to hold her?”
For a new mother, there is no greater honor to bestow than the gift of permitting the childless single female to hold her infant. To our childless single female, however, this is a troublesome moment. She lacks comfort and experience with infants, yet it would be an affront to the entire pack if she declined. Our thirty-something assesses the risk and reward of both options, and extends her hands to accept the infant.
The infant nestles its heavy head onto our thirty-something’s chest, and try as she might resist, we see her soften towards the infant, taking a surreptitious whiff of the delicious “baby smell” secreting from its head. Our thirty-something realizes that all eyes of the pack are on her and hands the baby back to its mother, relieved that no crying, retching, or urinating happened while the baby was in her charge.
The pack encircles the mother and her baby, forgetting about our thirty-something just long enough for her to slink out the door and back out into the wild.
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