In which I am judgmental and catty.

I’m helping host a baby shower for Alice. My job is the invites and RSVPs.

It’s a whole new world.

First of all, did you know that you can order baby shower invites with a silhouette of a pregnant belly … a silhouette into which you then insert your own ultrasound photo?

In keeping with the title of this post: are you freaking kidding me? Nothing gets me psyched about gathering newborn essentials like a picture of E.T.

Secondly … I’ve had two invitees ask if they can bring their young children.

Oh, sweet eight-pound, six-ounce baby Jesus in your golden fleece diaper.

I know I sound like the old spinster biddy I really and truly am when I say this, but … any invitation you receive is generally limited to the people listed on the envelope. When I receive an invitation addressed to Cha Cha, I somehow know instinctively that this does not also mean that I am to bring Foxie Doxie, Lil’ Frankfurter, my cousin, and that guy pumping gas next to me at Quik Trip.

How is it that I know this and other people don’t seem to? I’m really not that smart. If I can grasp this concept, you can, too!

And as for the woman who e-mailed and asked if she should get a babysitter?

I love kids. I do. And I understand that last-minute stuff comes up and sometimes bringing your kidlet can’t be helped. And newborns? Everybody loves a good round of Pass The Baby.

But.

If you ever find yourself asking if you should get a babysitter, the answer is always, invariably, yes. A thousand times, yes. For the love of all that is holy, yes.

Ahem.

Krampus is a gentleman of style and panache. He understands the etiquette of the invite.

Here, he was invited to visit my elementary school, which is now an apartment building for seniors.
Evidently, Krampus was also invited to ride the OATS bus.
Rock on, Krampus. Rock on.