Cotton Mouth Syndrome

Dear Readers,

There comes a time when you have to either face your fear or let your fears be known publicly. As you all are aware, I have an issue with cotton balls. I hate them. They’re gross, I can’t touch them and I certainly can not tolerate being in the same room with them. Now maybe that sounds crazy but I’m not alone. Follow me back in time to two weeks ago when I found out that I wasn’t the only cotton ball hater on earth.

Friday March 28, 2008 - Candice’s baby shower.

Normally, I avoid being around babies and hoards of screaming women at all costs. But I will make an exception if I happen to like the person who has recently squeezed a child out of her va-jay-jay. Candice would be said liked person. I even bought baby clothes and tiny baby orange sun shades that I knew would be the talk of the town. Tiny accessories always are. I had arranged to go to the baby shower with two of my co-workers, Amanda and Lorraine. Another co-worker on Maternity leave, Shannon, pulls up as we get out of the car. We’ve all arrived shortly after the party has started; gifts in hand and all slightly concerned when we hear the roar of women’s laughter meet us at the door. I could see inflated bunnies, blue balloons and streamers through the window.
“I think this is the right house…” I say in my ever pleasant sarcastic manner.

The four of us walk in the front door and there are already a thousand women here. Alright, that’s a mild exaggeration. More like a few hundred. There are shoes and boots strewn about all over the place. I can smell coffee and food in the air. I slowly make my way to the main focus of the party: the baby. He’s being passed around and smiles are beaming out from every angle of the room. I’m uncomfortable. At some point I know someone is going to offer me the baby and I’m going to make a face that suggests I dislike children. In turn they will make a face that suggests that they are horrified and no longer think I should hold the baby. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Amanda, Shannon and I all rush over to the corner to sit with two other co-workers and indecently leave poor Lorraine to fend for herself amidst the ecstatic middle aged women she does not know. She shoots Amanda and I look and we each stifle a giggle.

I have been on the couch for three point eight seconds. I am given a blue, satin bracelet with soothers on it and told that I am not allowed to use the following words for the duration of the evening: Baby, Memphis, or Boy. Otherwise, I will be punished! I loose my bracelet…who ever has the most bracelets at the end of the night wins. Hooray. I should at this time let you know that Candice and I have the same sense of humor. When she found out she was pregnant she said “I went to the doctor to make sure it wasn’t gas or something.” From then on, I always referred to her baby as a “Bundle of Gas”. She had also stated that if her baby was ugly she was going to sell it on e-bay. I of course, laughed. It sounded like something I’d say. Perhaps that’s why I like her so much.

An hour and a half has gone by. I’ve made conversation with people that I know and hidden away from the children trying to steal my fancy baby shower bracelet. Then tragedy strikes. The hostess brings out two giant bowls. One is empty and the other one is overflowing with…OMG are those cotton balls?! Panic starts to set in. I look around wildly at all of the strangers around me. They’re all about to witness me lose my shit over cotton balls. I start breathing like I’m about to give birth. In and out. Control yourself. You will be okay. I stutter when I say “D-d-o we have to touch those?” A hint of concern had crept into my voice. Amanda turns and looks at me then smiles, “Oh yeah! You are afraid of cotton balls! Oh no!” Shannon turns immediately to look at me and by this point I’ve been out-ed so I no longer care about keeping calm and I start to sweat. I repeat “Do we have to touch those!?” A little more urgency in my question this time. A few more side glances are sent my way.

The hostess begins to explain the rules of the game at this point - sensing that I’m about three minutes away from running screaming out the door never to be seen again. We have to scoop as many cotton balls as possible from one bowl to the other using a tea spoon…while blindfolded. I start to gag. Goosebumps have flared up all over my arms and legs. I’m going to be sick. They want me to willingly shove my hands in a bowl of cotton balls blindfolded!? My turn comes and I think I managed to get about 7 in the bowl because I’m trying not to touch the cotton balls. All I can hear is Amanda and Shannon laughing at me. To add insult to injury I am sitting right by the table where the gross balls are and so each time someone is up there scooping away they’re flinging cotton balls at me. I keep nudging them away from me with my foot with a disgusted look on my face like a child would do with their vegetables at the dinner table. Strike one.

On to the present opening! So many tiny clothes, cute stuffed frogs and helpful trinkets are given to Candice. I can’t believe how many items a baby can accumulate in one month of being alive. And it’s the only time I’ve ever had to sit and watch someone open presents for more than an hour. Everyone has the same message in their cards: Congratulations! Not mine. Candice reads my card and starts to laugh out loud. Making everyone ever so eager to read my funny card. They all really love the cute outfit and orange shades. Then they look at the card: Dear Candice, I’m so glad you didn’t sell your bundle of gas on E-bay! Love Amy. One by one their smiles turn in to confused frowns. They look at me for explanation and I can only manage a weak smile and tell them “It’s an inside joke.” Strike two.

I am starting to check the time. I’m feeling too exposed here. How many more presents are there left to open? I’m itchy. I need air. I’m still getting funny looks from the strange ladies. I don’t blame them. I just called a baby a bundle of gas, talked about selling a biracial baby on e-bay and I am morbidly afraid of cotton balls. Just when I feel like all hope is lost, Shannon turns to me and says “You know Tara H is afraid of cotton balls too. We threatened to decorate her desk at work with them and she flipped out.” That put a smile on my face. Yay I’m not alone! Victory is mine! So maybe it’s not so weird after all? I start to feel a little better. Maybe we’ll stay a wee bit longer.

“Amy? Would you like to hold the baby?”

Strike three.