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There are a lot of things that scare the shit out of me regarding bridal showers. The estrogen levels, for one. Growing up with just one older brother as sole companion, I've learned long ago to shun and denounce silly things like estrogen. Then, of course, bridal showers carry with them the implications of marriage, commitment, and til-death-or-my-lawyer-does-us-part. No thank you.

But those fears are to be expected. Still being relatively new at this wedding thing, I was unaware of a final kick in the bustier: finding a gift.

This kind of prim and proper gift-giving terrifies me! So, I inquired hopefully as to whether this might be a good old-fashioned mortify-the-bride bash, where I could just pick up a skanky pair of clearance Vicky's Secret underwear to drape around the lucky gal's head - to everyone's delight and amusement - then simply sanitize my hands and be done with it. I was informed crisply that the bride's mother, grandmother, aunt, and elderly neighbor would all be present; a veritable chastity belt task force. Under no circumstances or pretenses would it be that sort of a party.

It was a housewares sort of a party.

I was S.O.L.

You see, I like to call my style of décor is "budget bohemian." I live, err, minimalistically, one might say. Houseware items in my experience are purchased in varying 99-cent installments from Garden Ridge... that is, the ones I can't somehow construct out of paper or find for free. When I bring people cookies or a birthday cake, I have to stand by patiently while they transfer said baked goods off of my plate and onto one of their own, or I won't have anything to eat off of at night.

I was so out of my element with the gift-giving.

Thank god for gift registries, you know? At least I had some idea from where to start. With this comical wishlist of goodies, from paper towel dispensers ("can I really get away with giving this as a gift?") to mattress pads ("do I really want to be that intimately involved in this couple's wedding night?"), I would have to find something. So I went, unknowingly and warm-heartedly, to Crate and Barrel. And that's when it began.

I had never been to a Crate and Barrel.

It has... changed me.

You see, my Budget Bohemian lifestyle is a choice. It represents who I am, what I care about (or don't), where my values lie - not with material goods or luxurious pleasures or an actual bed instead of the poorly constructed futon frame I found on the side of the road (it comes complete with the daily threat of tetanus!) - but with friends, family, art, good music, self-knowledge. Cheap beer. Crate and Barrel just never even blipped on the radar. I was far too above it, lightyears beyond those automatons with their crisp linen sheets and matching dinnerware.

Or so I was perfectly happy to claim.

Until I walked into Crate and Barrel.

It happened slowly, at first. I want a chaise lounge! I want a wooden slat Burmese end table!

And accelerated. I want my very own blown glass butter dish with matching toaster! My own spice rack! A personal wine chiller!

And then, simply, took over.

I want a melaya Batik pillow, too! I deserve a melaya Batik pillow! Oh, that pillow. With its sultry, spicy shades of cinnamon curry cayenne. Swimming in a sea of deep aubergine blooms... with botanical prints... I mean, it was reminiscent of traditional Balinese wood block prints, for heaven's sake!

Those bastards. They have broken me.

I went to Crate & Barrel in search of the Newlyweds' Cookbook for my friend's bridal shower. I emerged with a plan. It's called "phony engagement."

You're all invited to my bridal shower. You can find my registry at Crate and Barrel and, just in case you get a wild hair, Pottery Barn.

Remember, furniture makes a great group gift.

Just make sure it matches with cinnamon curry cayenne.

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