Savage Bitches and their Balloons

Last Saturday my Gilbert house was taken over by 50 Savage Bitches. For a douchebag millennial that might sound like a party. I fled on a bicycle.

For those of you who don’t know, the Savages are my in-laws, and there are a ton of Savage rules about family events.

One of the tall-ass Savage women, a niece to the Bear, is having a baby girl, so the Bear invited all the female Savages to my house for the fucking “shower.” Aunts, cousins, mothers and friends brought tables, ribbons, trinkets, cards and other bullshit that they spread from the front yard through the house and into the back. Like they said in A Christmas Story — it was a “Pink Nightmare.”

I closed my eyes as tight as I could and tried to run. I thought I had one job – get out. But I was drafted to go get the food, just before the 11 a.m. party started. Who starts a party at 11 a.m., the fucking Savages that’s who…

Before I could leave, the Bear put me on “balloons” with 3 women. Apparently all the RSVP’s came late and the party swelled from 30 to 50.

I thought that was no big deal, it’s just a shower – stuff everybody into a corner, collect the booty and kick them out. I thought wrong. This meant we needed more tables, more centerpieces and more balloons.

“Why can’t these bitches sit at a table without pink balloons in the center? “

“Jesus,” is all the Bear said.

I wanted to say: “Jesus doesn’t have nothin’ to do with this shit.” But I want to continue to have a penis. So I said nothing and blew up more than a dozen balloons.

“That one is too small,” the Bear shouted from across the room pointing at a balloon I was holding in my hand. “And your last one was too big.”

I have no fucking idea how she knew which balloons I was blowing up versus the other Savages standing around this table. But the Bear has been teaching school for 30 years and there is no arguing.

I held up my current balloon and the previous balloon, they were exactly the same size.

“See,” the Bear said. “Now fix it.”

The Savage Kara had her back to the Bear. She looked at the balloons, looked at me and slightly rolled her eyes and raised her eyebrows. Sure make faces when the Bear can’t see, Kara, you fucking coward. I put a fake puff of air in the new balloon and handed it off.

“All fixed.”

After I got the food, I’m standing in the garage in my biking shorts (an awful visual if there ever was one), and the goddamn bitches start arriving — 15 min early. I didn’t know these people, they didn’t know me, but every single one of them wanted to wander into the garage and talk to me. While they are distracting me from fleeing, the Savage “greeting woman” is at a table in the front yard shouting to get their attention. “Here’s the sheet with the instructions, you drop the presents on the BBQ in the back, and drinks are to the right.”

Instructions? I don’t even want to fucking know.

I ride the bike for 3 hours, OK that’s bullshit. I ride the bike for a little over an hour and sit in various empty parks like a wino for almost two hours. I’d like to apologize to the two grandma’s at Shepherd’s park who were obviously convinced I was some kind of pervert as I was adjusting the bike shorts to get the pad in the right place. It couldn’t be helped.

When I get home all the balloons and all but 5 Savages are gone.

“Perfect timing,” one the Savages calls out as she stuffing her toddler in the back of her car and driving off.

Almost perfect, there were still 3 Savages left… And it took another 2 hours before we were down to 1.