"Keta comes clean about four showers" from the May 15, 1973 Door County Advocate
Keta Steebs
Keta Steebs
Keta comes clean about four showers
I couldn't help contrasting a recent bridal shower I attended with one I presided at some 20-odd years ago. This starry-eyed bride-to-be became so emotionally moved by the thought and care which went into her assortment of gifts, she burst into tears. At my shower the only weeping done was by the guests – and there weren't too many of them.
The one's who showed up didn't exactly appear under duress (my mother promised to houseclean for one and babysit for another) but most of them were pretty mad. One aunt told my sister if I didn't quit getting jilted she'd be spending the rest of her life embroidering ?? on towels.
"This is her fourth shower in two years," she grumbled. "Your mother's attic is so crammed with pie tins the floor is beginning to buckle. It wouldn't be so bad if we had an excuse to stay home but Keta insists on putting "if you can't come — send" on the back of the envelopes."
Very little loving care went into that last batch I managed to snag, I assure you. Everyone thought I should have returned gifts from previous showers but I was already so tired of giving back engagement rings, I thought I should have a little something to show for my trouble. Besides, most of them ate enough jello and cake to make up for the loss of a pie tin.
I wouldn't say this fifth batch of guests was overly suspicious but one of my rotten cousins kept asking my mother if she had actually laid eyes on a real live breathing fiance or if I had picked up a zircon at the dime store. My grandmother ( we could only get relatives at this one) wanted to know when the wedding cake would be ordered.
"When I see the whites of the minister's eyes," my mother retorted. "I don't trust her any more than you do."
As you can imagine, this somewhat hostile atmosphere did little to enhance any girlish enthusiasm I may have had. Trying to appear grateful for a nicked rolling pin and a couple of flat irons isn't easy and unfolding a one by two foot rag rug is hardly cause for rejoicing. Any tears I felt like shedding were those of chagrin — not joy.
Seeing the handwriting on the wall, I told my weary mother this would absolutely be the last shower she ever had to give me.
"How about babies?" she groaned.
"I'll wait at least 12 years," I promised. Which is why I have the honor today of being the oldest fifth-grader-mother in the county.
Courtesy of the Door County Library Newspaper Archive
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