Actually, the baby shower wasn't all that bad.

Hah hah. Just kidding, Kate.

But there was an unexpected thwap upside the head, so let's start there and see how far we get.

I almost wore my red leather boots with the 3" spike heels. Thought they'd look good with the jeans and classy black dress sweater, and more than that: there is something fantastically appealing about the idea of wearing fuck-me boots to your sister's baby shower at a Wesleyan church in Indiana. I mean it's kind of a no-brainer. But then I decided I'd rather be able to run for my life, if need be, so I wore the sensible but stylish black suede boots instead.

I started by picking up my niece. She's a southsider and I am pretty lost on the south side, so I took a wrong turn and added about 20 minutes to the drive. Which I hate when I take a wrong turn, rar. But then there she was with her long, heavy, brown hair with the thick stripes of golden blonde - and it always has made me smile, to see her physical self match her mental maturity and poise. Not an easy life for her, but she got some kind of grace from somewhere. Certainly not from either of her parents, that's for sure.

Don't get me wrong - she's still very, very adolescent. As will become apparent.

So I hugged my neff (her little brother) and told him I wish I could hang with him, watching cartoons in my pj's on a Saturday morning, but nooooooo. Stupid frikken baby shower. Stupid girls. Stupid ovaries. Then my niece put on chunky-heeled boots which made her not such a shrimp. I never realized how much shorter than me she is. I'm 5'6", so I think she's about 5'2"? Anyway.

So there we were, driving along, I exit onto the Tri-State Tollway and wonder vaguely how many tolls we'll have to go through since I so rarely come this way, and my niece is chattering on about school and friends and "So me and my boyfriend broke up."

Please, put yourself in the car with us. Some Kelly Clarkson song is on the radio. I am there in my red coat, sassy hair shining in the blinding sun. Skies are beautiful blue. My charming niece inspecting her freshly painted fingernails and talking in that up-speak. I have a smile that I'm hiding because Omigod The Drama, Auntie Beth. She talks in this veryveryfasttalking way, inherited from Yours Truly.

It's a lovely picture, you must admit. Visualize it. Be there. Observe. Feel for me.

Niece: "He was cheating on me with my best friend! Well not my best friend Evvie but I mean Susan and this is the FIFTH boy she's stolen from me."
Me: "Then I think maybe she's not your friend."
Niece: "No. Auntie Beth. Seriously. I'm totally better off because he's a worthless piece of shit."
[Very slight pause in which she surreptitiously checks me for negative reaction to her profanity. I am poker-faced.]
Me: "Well he certainly sounds like it, the way he brok up with you."
Niece: "And I also found out that like a couple of months ago he was cheating on me with ANOTHER girl and he was lying to me and saying it was his cousin and I'm like hello? Who talks to their cousin like that, because I read the text messages on his phone and she called him 'hun', and why would your cousin call you hun?"
Me, gravely: "Good point."
Niece: "Yeah and even though I call everyone hun but that's different because that's just like how I am and you wouldn't believe what else, okay, do you know what bj is?"

[Cue needle scratch across the record]

And then I drove into a tree. The end.

Okay, not the end. It was something more like -- on the inside? This was me:
OH MY GOD SHE IS ASKING ME IF I KNOW WHAT A BLOW JOB IS MY FIFTEEN YEAR OLD NIECE IS ASKING ME IF I KNOW ABOUT BLOW JOBS OH MY FUCKING GOD AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

On the outside: "Yeah, of course."
Niece: "Okay, well he gave his friend Joe a bj--"
Me, inside: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Niece: "and he says it was because he was drunk but please I know he wasn't"
Me, inside: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP
Niece: "And his friend Joe has STDs, you know what they are, right?"
Me: "A'course"
Me, inside: how old was I when I knew about blowjobs like eleven it was fifth or sixth grade so yes like ten or eleven so this is normal she's probably known about them forever, I guess, except AHHHHHHH and I would never in ten hundred thousand omigod ever ever ever have said this to an adult much less one in my family but okay this is good that she can talk the important thing is that she at least still communicates, right, so I am trusted and I can't blow this and jesus christ WHY DOES EVERYONE ASK ME ABOUT BLOW JOBS I mean what am I an expert or something does it just say Talk to Me About Blow Jobs across my forehead am I wearing a gold ribbon or something because this is crazy that I get this convo so much in my life it is downright abnormal oh my god what if she has had sex oh my Christ my god oh hail mary mother of god I think I just swallowed my own tongue and will begin seizures in T minus ten-nine-eight because what if she's been having sex AHHHHHHHHHHHHH oh crap pay attention you gotta pay attention NOW.
Niece: "so he got tested for STDs and he's positive and"

[So that sound you heard at about 11:48amCST was the cracking of my heart. In case you were curious.]

Niece: "and Susan my friend or I should say EX-friend is totally a whore and she fucked him after they were going out for just three days, so now she's probably got it too and can you believe that?"
Me, in a shockingly casual tone: "Did you sleep with him?"
Niece: "No, I never did."
Me, inside: Why couldn't she say that no she hasn't slept with him or anyone, ever? Why? Is she trying to kill me?
Me: "Okay, but I mean did you do anything with him at all, because--"
Niece: "No, all I ever did was make out with him."
Me, inside: Yes, but were your clothes on? No, I can't ask that, I mean I'd punch someone for asking ME that, okay so maybe I can ask how, how, how? Ummm, did anything other than his mouth and hands touch you no I can't say that, I'd punch anyone for asking me that, too. Well shit if that's the measuring stick then I can't fucking ask her anything now can I, I'll just have to trust her and she's gotta grow up sometime, just face it. Fucking fuckitty fuckwads HOW DO PARENTS DO THIS AHHHHHHHH.
Me: "Okay, but look - you could tell me and I wouldn't tell anyone. Not that you HAVE to tell me anything ever, but I'm just saying that you know, if you ever need help--" oh dear god don't offer her advice on blow jobs or anything -- "ya know, I mean if you're too embarrassed to talk to your parents or you're afraid they'll like judge you or whatever, then you can always give me a call and I'm cool about it."

Or maybe I wasn't all that eloquent. Because I really couldn't quite hear anything over the mindless, wordless, full-throated AHHHHHHHHHH of distress/denial/dafreakout that was screaming in my head the entire time.

And sorry, the shower stuff will have to wait until later tonight because I'm still kind of reeling from that casually tossed out "Okay, do you know what a bj is?" So I'm going to try to stop wringing my hands long enough to drink a restorative and maybe eat some leftover cake.