After putting her foot down and declaring to the world that she absolutely, positively, irrefutably does not want a baby shower, my sister has... changed her mind.
"I realised," she said, looking resigned, "That it actually isn't for my benefit at all."
I knew it. I totally knew it. Another theory proved right! I thought to myself.
"Well, why not call it something else? Maybe a kitchen tea or something?" I said. "And you don't have to do all that baby-food tasting and eating chocolates out of nappies and all that..."
"That's for weddings," pointed out someone else.
"What? Eating chocolate out of n..."
"No. A kitchen tea. That's for weddings. You mean a basket tea."
"Oh well, whatever. You could still invite all your mumsy friends over to coo and cluck, but you don't have to go overboard."
"Well why don't you come then?" asked my sister, calmly and yes, seriously. "That would send the message that it's not a baby shower, wouldn't it?"
And I said... "OK then."
Gulp. I've dropped myself right in it, haven't I? I just know that all her mumsy pals will turn up with bibs and nappy cakes and I'll look like a right chump. They'll give me the look as well, oh you just know I'll get the 'what's he doing here' eyes from across the room...
Then, when the Mr Kipling's fondant fancy wrappers are left with a plate of crumbs, there'll be talk of stitches and dilation and epidurals and bodily fluids.
Deep breath, I thought to myself. You got out of the cricket match, you can get out of a baby shower.
Or maybe I should brave it out and take on the mumsies? Yeah mumsies. My little sister wants me here, I'm here, and yes, I'm a bloke, so you're just going to have to deal with it, sisters.
I asked my Mum for advice but she just laughed, made some comment about the 'scrapes' I get into and called me Jimper.
Unbelievable.
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