A 31 party is essentially a tupperware party, but for bags. A woman stands up in front of a group of women and tells them about all of these amazing products she has. Then the women are supposed to buy something. I expected it to be boring and I expected to end up buying an expensive bag I didn’t really want.
What I wasn’t prepared for was the “game” we had to play.
I hate games. I know how antisocial and anti-human that statement makes me sound, but it’s true. I dreaded the days in school when the substitute teacher would run out of things to occupy the students with and announce we were going to play 7-Up. I sent telepathic messages to the kids who did the choosing not to pick me so I wouldn’t have to possibly embarrass myself by not guessing the right person in front of the whole class (we can talk about what this says about my bizarre psyche some other time).
So when the woman at the 31 party announced we were going to play a game, I was already contemplating suddenly having to use the restroom. Then she said it was an icebreaker.
If there’s anything I hate more than games, it’s icebreakers. You know, those silly activities meant to introduce strangers to each other that do a horrible job of masquerading as something fun? The moment I hear the word “icebreaker,” I internally (and usually also externally) cringe.
The icebreaker turned out to be one of the more ridiculous ones I’ve ever had to participate in (and I’ve done a LOT of icebreakers over the years). We had to go around the room and say, “I’m a virtuous woman because…” It had something to do with the Bible, which was especially unfair because I’m sure God didn’t appreciate seeing a group of grown women in obvious discomfort over something apparently connected to Him.
I’ll spare you the details of the “game,” except to note that when it was my mother’s turn, she began with, “I hate talking about myself like this.” (Can you see the family resemblance?) We survived the torturous icebreaker and the rest of the party was basically painless. It was boring. I bought an overpriced bag I didn’t especially want.
I suppose it could have been worse. It could have been a Passion Party (if you don’t know what that is, look it up, and then pray you never have to go to one with your sisters like I did a few years ago).