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I don't know what Alice's problem is here. My wife sure looked a lot happier at her tea party.

I’m a pretty girly guy.  I was made an honorary girl when I was seventeen by a bunch of my friends, all of them girls.  I’m the only one of the husbands in my wife’s inner circle that has a standing invite to all female get-togethers.  I cry a lot.  I hog babies when they visit.  I decorate.

However, the baby shower I attended on Sunday may have completely out-girled me.

First of all, baby showers are truly a girls-only event in a way that almost no other events can be.  Men can sneak into a spa day and get manly shiatsu massages, or they can tag along on shopping trips to carry bags.  They can also be referees in pillow fights and tickle contests.  (I’m not sure about that last one, but I’m led to understand that women partake in those activities all the time when men aren’t around.)

But a baby shower is different than all of these things.  When you consider the pure girliness of women celebrating the fact that they can grow and expel children, you know that the room will be rather estrogen-laden.  Now imagine that the room has been themed around a tea-party.

Have you ever been to a manly tea-party?

Silver tea service.  China cups.  Pastries.  Cupcakes.  White tablecloths on small tables.  Flowery centerpieces.  You cannot accessories a male-friendly even with any of these things.

Don’t get me wrong: it looked stunning.  My sisters-in-law and mother-in-law had turned a nondescript room in a church into a tea party worthy of Alice and the Mad Hatter themselves.

It’s just hard to be a guy amidst such delicacy and frill.

Add to this mix the fact that my wife is about to give birth to a baby girl, and the femininity of the event reaches critical mass.  There were tiny pink dresses everywhere.  There were leggings and skirts and pink corduroy pea coats.  There were innumerable tiny shoes, including an itty-bitty pair of Uggs.

And it isn’t as though I’m not ecstatic that I’m about to become the father to a little girl.  I just think that taking 50-odd women at their absolute most giggly, squealing, giddy best and putting them in an enclosed space creates an actual physical barrier to men.  I couldn’t bring myself to pass into the area when I first got there, as if Gandalf had thrown up some kind of anti-testicular spell to keep me and the male Balrogs out of the way.

So, I guess I’ve found my limit of girliness.  It only took 50 women, an unborn baby girl, a tea party, cupcakes, flowers, and about 100 pink dresses.