Who doesn’t like a party? Thanks so much for inviting me… oh. It’s a “shower.”
It’s a theme shower, I see, pre-feminist wave of the mid-20th century? The envelope is addressed to “Mrs.” me and I bristle; I just don’t see that in my circles. When phone solicitors ask if I am “Mrs.” Something, I know they don’t mean me and politely say that they must have someone else in mind and goodbye. Though my male partner is in fact the relative of the “bride,” you have invited only me, so it’s a double-X chromosome thing, huh? How retro, like my home phone, I guess.
Your tastefully printed invitation – style points there! — refers to the wedding couple as the “soon-to-be Hisnames” give by all those bridesmaids. I wonder if you would really use the phrase “tying the knot” in its original sense, that of a trial marriage. Probably not. You mean a clichéd binding of hand, foot, mind and money.
I usually bathe alone. So without regret, I will not be attending your party. You won’t miss me.