The definition of self-indulgence

I am always in favor of having a party, but this is quite possibly the stupidest celebration that I have ever seen. Ask your doctor to place the results of your latest ultrasound in an envelope, pass that envelope onto your local bakery, and ask the baker to bake you a cake that matches the ultrasound results:

Pink for a girl and blue for a boy.

Then cover the cake with frosting.

A couple days later, invite your friends and family over to reveal the sex of your baby in grand fashion (not gender because gender and sex are not the same thing). With all eyes focused upon you (the whole point of this fiasco), the unveiling begins with the cutting of the cake and the revealing of the cake’s color.

It’s a boy!

It’s a girl?

The parents are despicable!

Screaming, laughing and tears commence. Hugs and kisses. Expressions of disbelief and surprise. And all the while you rejoice in your moment of exceptional self-indulgence with the people who used to love you the most before you involved them in this ridiculous spectacle.

Apparently this type of party is more common than I thought. My sister-in-law had already heard of these parties and even knows someone self-involved enough to have one.

I’ll say it again. Maybe there is something to this 2012 apocalypse stuff.

I will admit that if I was self-centered enough to have one of these parties, I might call it a Gender Reveal Party as well.

A Sex Reveal Party sends the wrong message.