Humiliation, Party of One

Once, when I was but a wee lass, I had a birthday party.

I must have been seven or eight, I suppose, and I was enthroned on a chair in front of my guests, both girls and boys.

Their shining faces looked eagerly at me as I ripped colored paper from packages and flung ribbons to the floor in my haste to open things meant for my enjoyment.

Many things were discovered! Rejoiced over! My Little Pony! Strawberry Shortcake! Care….

Wait, WHAT?

Mind racing, I jammed a small package underneath something else, and thanked the giver, a young boy whose mother obviously did the gift shopping.

“What’s that, ally?” Screams my beloved mother in a voice loud enough to be heard three states away. “Oh, look, everybody! CARE BEAR UNDERWEAR!!”

From thence onward, I insisted on single gendered birthday parties. Where I could walk around in a tshirt and my cute care bear undies all I wanted.