Anyone who knows me at all knows that I don’t do parties that sell shit. I don’t go to candle or jewelry or food or makeup or any other parties that try to lure you in with the promise of appetizers. I don’t believe in preying on the easy sell of a woman who feels obligated to do something for her friend. I also buy anything I want myself, and certainly don’t need to start buying shit in my friends’ homes: I mean, if you let it go that far, when does the buying stop? I don’t even take the time to RSVP “no” to them because I don’t think it deserves my two seconds. I hate them. I have made my life goal to never attend one. Lofty, I know. Dream big.
I remember my mother coming back from a candle party years ago and she felt terrible. She felt terrible because she never wanted to go to this party in the first place, but would have felt bad not going, and once she got there, she felt guilted into buying this ridiculous candle holder that cost $45. $45! This was paid by the woman who once stretched $300 to cover the food, clothes, presents, and general expenses of four children and herself each month. Knowing how hard it was for her made me vow right then and there to never attend one of these stupid things. If I want appetizers, I’ll go to TGI Fridays anyway – I doubt your party has pot stickers.
But, I broke my vow. Although not by choice: I was duped. I was lured to a party under false pretenses: I was told we were meeting for happy hour and then meeting up with her sister. So I got to happy hour and as soon as I arrived was whisked away to the sister’s house for a sex party. It’s not as fun as it sounds: you don’t go there to have sex, just to look at lingerie and dildos with other women, some of whom love to disclose what they have and wish they had. It’s one part interesting, six parts repulsive. And of course, as I knew I would be, I was pressured to buy something. So I did buy something inexpensive, and was given it in one of those black plastic bags that porn comes in which makes you feel filthy. I still haven’t used it, of course: it’s in a drawer as all things bought out of obligation are.
I was still feeling pretty filthy about the whole thing-not because of my actions, but because of what I learned about the other women-when I went home for Christmas. That was when my mom told me and my sister about this sex party she went to. Apparently that candle party was just a rite of passage and now she’s a regular obligation party crasher. She told us how much fun she had tickling the other girls with the feather and joking about sizes. Wow, I’m a prude. My mother is enjoying these things while I’m cringing and wringing my sweaty hands.
All that being said, I am always shocked when I get one of these fucking invitations sent to me: Tastefully Simple, Avon, Pampered Chef, Girl Scout cookies (oh wait, that’s something different), you name it. How many times do people have to be turned down before they realize it just ain’t gonna happen with me? It ain’t gonna happen unless you lie to me about where I’m going, and then I just might show up and hate myself for being so gullible. These party hosts are predators and I’m simply prey.