So there I stood in aisle M-13.
On my left were breast pumps stacked to the ceiling. Breast pumps, breast milk holders, breast milk extractors, breast milk warmers - breast, breast, breast. Seeking comfort I looked to my right, only to find an assortment of brightly colored, child-safe rattles with zoo creatures and fish staring at me ... with those cold dead eyes.
And I nearly fainted.
Perhaps I should explain.
You see a co-worker of mine was having a baby, and her friends were throwing her a shower to which I was invited. I have never been to a baby shower, but my imagination creates a place full of pastels, random exclamations of "Aww, how cute!" and the ritual sacrifice of male genitals.
Since this very closely mirrors my idea of being punished in the afterlife, I politely declined, as did the majority of the men invited. However, I felt it only polite to send a gift, which resulted in me heading to aisle M-13 of a local big-box retail store.
Standing there next to the wall-o-mammary-glands, realizing that this was not an aisle I was ready for, I vowed two things.
One, I was going to sue Peter Pan. Why? Because the little twerp lied to me. He made growing up evil. He shirked responsibility, playing with knives and feeding timekeeping devices to large animals.
His greatest accomplishment was providing us with false hope that if we played with enough fairies and believed hard enough, we too, could stave off growing up.
Asexual-tights-wearing-feather-capped-little goober.
More and more of my once-single-and-carefree friends have been minivan-affied. What used to be drinks after work now means juiceboxes at the park. While I love the teeter-totter, it comes across to the other parents as less "that guy enjoying his youth" and more "that clown-faced rape monster."
It started with one. One friend gave in and got married. We reasoned it away with statements like, "It was bound to happen" and "They'd been together since high school."
But lately it seems that my once-powerful single majority is dwindling to the point that I realize this will not be my last trip to aisle M-13. The troubling part is that I am being forced to grow up by association. That or find new friends, and I'm too lazy to find new friends.
With my selected item and the least cutesy card I could find, I strolled confidently toward the checkout counter, prepared to accomplish my second vow. After aisle M-13, I needed to regain my bachelorhood. So, to put the jock back in my strap, I resolved to flirt with the cashier. A good smile and the laugh of an attractive girl was just what I needed, so ahead I went.
My cashier, Derrick, was not impressed.
Got a story of being forced to grow up? Tell me about it on the Party of One blog at www.nevadaappeal.com.
• Jarid Shipley is a reporter for the Nevada Appeal. Contact him a jshipley@nevadaappeal.com or 881-1217.