Yesterday, a day of ritualized gift-giving and celebration.

I met my mom at her house, and we walked down the street to a bridal shower given for Jae by the ladies of Bondbrook. For the first hour, we drank lemonade from crystal punch cups, and ate Donna's crab dip, topped with slivered almonds. Women of my mother's generation, who I still think of as "grownups," greeted me by name. Many I remembered from childhood, but others I struggled to place, and hoped discreetly for a conversational cue -- the name of a daughter, a reference to a church. For lunch we balanced wicker trays on our laps and nibbled an assortment of salads. How civilized!

And then: the gifts. As we took our seats I eyed the table piled high and tried to guess how long it would take to open everything. The shower ritual, if you're not familiar with it, goes like so:

- A helper hands Jae a box.
- Jae opens the card and announces who the gift is from.
- Jae unwraps the gift. The ladies cringe as she tears the paper off and crumples it up, instead of folding and saving it. Jae hands the ribbon to Heather, who makes the traditional bouquet for the rehearsal, using a paper plate.
- Jae removes the gift from its box and exclaims over it. She receives lots of the colorful Fiestaware she registered for, so she coos over the appealing shape of the dish, or admires a new shade she hasn't seen yet. Almost everything else is for the kitchen, which, she jokes, is more for the groom than the bride.
- The ladies exclaim over it. In the case of the large, sequined, flamingo-print tote bag, the ladies laugh hysterically, and that laughter is renewed when Jae announces she'll take it on her honeymoon. In case of the hand-made patchwork placemats in Jae's Fiestaware colors, they murmur admiringly.
- I snap photos with three cameras.
- Jae's mother notes giver and gift(s) on a stenographer's pad.
- Repeat for two hours. Jae deserves a medal for her stamina and enthusiasm, neither of which flag for the duration of the shower.

Afterward, we resumed eating. An assortment of rich desserts was laid out on the screen porch: towering lemon angel food cake, raspberry tart, chocolate pie, chocolate cremes. And, thank god, coffee. Who knew watching someone open presents could be so exhausting?

But there was no rest for the weary, or adequate digestion for the full, so I dashed back to DC to celebrate Andrew's birthday. I was 30 minutes late to Alero, but the crowd was leisurely, still enjoying the chips and salsa. A cactus-stem glass with a salty rim materialized in front of me. Pitcher after pitcher of Cuervo Gold margaritas arrived swiftly and silently. Caught up in the momentum of gluttony, I ordered a spinach quesadilla and severely regretted it.

Andrew is older, and, now that he owns Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, much, much happier.