You Knew There Had to be a Bachelorette Party

After the bridal shower, the next disastrous hurdle –excuse me, that’s a typo, it should read “celebration” – was the bachelorette party. There are typically three ways to go on a bachelor/bachelorette party. One is to take the groom/bride somewhere (Vegas, Miami, tropical island) for an unforgettable weekend of alcohol, nudity, alcohol, alcohol, and nudity. Option two is typically a scaled down version of option one; the focus is still alcohol and nudity, but it’s a one night celebration, typically in one’s local metropolitan area. Option three is to come up with something creative and different. Personally, I feel if the marrying party is under 30, the first two options are really the only two, unless you have something ridiculously good planned (You don’t. Trust me. You’re not that creative.) Due to general financial concerns, I knew that there was no way these bachelorettes would be traveling. This terrified me, since as has been established, my apartment is the nexus of these girls’ social universe, meaning that the party would probably either begin, end, or take place entirely in my domicile. On the heels of the shower I could just picture it: thinking ahead, I would plan to spend the evening elsewhere, only to return the next day to an apartment covered in hair, menstrual blood, and shredded stripper thong, with nary a living soul in sight.

Fortunately, I had an unexpected ally in Operation Keep Your Psychotic Friends the Hell Away from Where I Live. As I mentioned earlier, some friction had begun between Pam’s sister Kim and the dynamic duo of Jill and my sister. In retrospect, it shouldn’t have been that big a shock; after all, though I don’t know Kim that well, I’ve gathered that she, like the other two, is a stubborn, catty, opinionated woman (is that redundant?). The original plan, which is to say, the plan Jill and my sister had before talking to her, was your standard dinner/strip club/bar shenanigans style bachelorette party. Kim however had other plans. There is a hotel/spa near Pam’s house, and her idea was for the bridal shower to join Pam in a full spa treatment, dinner, and a night at the hotel. Being women, my sister and Jill were obviously both enticed, but neither was necessarily in a position to pony up for what would certainly be a pricy evening

-Side note: I realize a spa/hotel stay is expensive, but how cheap do they think a strip club-inclusive night out on the town is? If you’re doing it right, it’s probably nearly the same, if not more.-

After hearing my sister bitch about the various small skirmishes that were going on between Kim and the team of her and Jill, I anticipated a long, brutal, conclusion, not unlike the Battle of Antietam. Imagine my surprise then, when my sister came home one evening and reported in no uncertain terms that she had “lost.” It was amazing. I’ve won arguments with her before using a shock-and-awe blend of volume, profanity, and moral superiority, but for a waif-like girl to have so clearly dominated her, well, my hat is off. If I may resort (as I so unfortunately frequently do) to a sports metaphor, she had the look of a heavy favorite who just got blown off the field by a heavy underdog. Basically, Kim told the rest of the bridal shower that they were doing the spa thing, and not only that, but they were paying whether they went or not. A brilliant gambit, if I so say so myself.

Obviously, I had no contact with the motley crew during the bachelorette party, but all reports are that it went as well as could be expected. Upon returning, there was much whining about the massages being scheduled at 8pm, after they had already begun drinking (were shitfaced), and before dinner. As a result, by the time they had showered and were ready for dinner, most places were closed (and they were losing their buzzes) so their only option was some horrifically local dive. I diplomatically neglected to mention that they spent most of ages 21-25 in the same.