Mickey

Wednesday I received a phone call from Blanka, this adorable little Mexican lady that I worked with forever ago at Macaroni Grill.

He accent is so strong and the only words I could make out where “Mickey!” (She calls me Mickey) “Baby Shower” and “Your house"

“Yeah, if you want to have a baby shower at my house that would be fine.”

“Ok, I have my daughter text you the address, to your house on Saturday”

Ohhhhhhhh, YOU want Me to go to YOUR house?. . . Yeah, I haven’t seen you in 2 years, I’ve never met your daughter, but ok, let’s do it.

“OK, yeah, that sounds good"

I received a text later that held a jumbled address. 

And last Saturday I went to a baby shower. 

Showed up at 4:00 right on time, and noticed right away that I had the wrong gift. For some reason I thought it was a baby girl. . Don’t know how that happened. 

But when they opened my little baby slip on Vans shoes that were red with little silver stars everyone reassured me that boys could wear red stars too. (They were so adorable)

The food was amazing, spicy, but amazing. I was caught twice at the table with tears in my eyes because I’m a wuss for spice, and then had to convince everyone that I loved the food. There was all kinds of people there, not limited to just the laddies, husbands and perverted little nephews were there, kids and elderly. Everyone Hispanic, everyone bouncing back and forth from English to Spanish. I sat alone until my table was filled with people all of them quite nice to me, telling me how everyone was related. The entire place was decorated from top to bottom with the “It’s a boy” section at the local dollar store. So tacky, so lame, so endearing. They played games. Stupid, stupid games, but everyone even grandma took a turn putting a lime between her legs walking it across the room and tried to land it in a cup. The same song was seemingly on repeat and was so loud, everyone had to compete to talk. When it was my turn to play the games I would dance as I tried to pin the binky on the baby, or hold a spoon in my mouth balancing an egg. I felt like I was part of the family when the dancing started. They loved me. 

I left after 4 hours, and I felt rude to leave, 4 hours. . . 4hours and the party was still going strong. It was amazing. 

I don’t venture West of the freeway enough.

I can’t wait until I have a baby, I’m inviting all of them to my shower.