I would like to virtually invite you to my separation shower. Yes, I said that.
See, when I was socially accepted into the world of togetherness you fawned all over us. You sent money and frames, dishes and well wishes.
But now, I’m separated from that same person you thought was so perfect for me. The one who got half of my presents.
I really need stuff now. Certainly not a crock pot, or a honeymoon suite. I want a party, with some thoughtful generosity.
So please rsvp asap. Wear whatever you want as long as you don’t look better than me, as my self esteem is in the shitter. No different than refraining from the white dress at a wedding.
Speaking of weddings and perfect boyfriends, leave those stories at home. As hard as it may be to put me first, I am not interested in your fabulous love journey, since mine recently tanked.
At my separation shower, I expect smiles, laughter and well wishes. Because I’m committing to someone new, amazing and well worth the new duvet. Me.
I am owning my shit, publicly loving myself, and I want some accessories.
A gift card to anywhere fits nice in a hot new wallet. I need retail therapy, therefore this is the most thoughtful gift. As in the liquor store sells these. Let me choose my own poison please.
Lingerie won’t upset me one bit. I may not be on the dating scene but I need to walk by the bathroom mirror and catch a glimpse of my inner tigress.
How about some dancing shoes? Do you know how long it’s been since I danced into the wee hours. Years, and the last time was swaying a baby to sleep in my slippers.
Any books about dating past the forties.
I’m pretty sure things have changed, and I need the ladies who have investigated and reported that shit. Plus why not some wine for me to drink while I gobble up every page, late at night while surfing match.com
Find out what my favorite color is and surround me in it. I want tacky fashion jewels, stationary, scarfs and kittens in teal blue. It makes me happy.
Please present me with food gift baskets, but nothing healthy. This is the one time I can justify emotional eating. So chocolate covered potato chips surrounded by twinkies, will bring tears to my eyes and who cares about my thighs.
If you can whip up a mixed tape of all my favorite high school songs, I might try to make out with you. Nothing will make me feel younger and feisty like some Def Leopard and Prince.
In fact why not pitch in for a karaoke machine, so after this shower, I can drown my sorrows in some Taylor Swift songs, alone with my ugly cry and tone def howls.
While all these gifts may help my new found freedom, what I really need is your support. It’s a different time in my life, one that I never saw coming. There isn’t a fantasized, built up divorce culture that has a special dancing dress, or long list of rituals to embrace. It sucks. Everyone wants to tell me what they want to hear. Just listen. I need your ears, and kleenex, not your shock and awe.
Also any hot single men you may know…there’s room in my new clutch purse for business cards.