Okay, so I survived. I stayed up late, I drank just enough to stay happy, and L’il Sis kept a check on her vengeance. There were no embarrassing tee-shirts commanding me to do embarrassing things, the threatened bondage-wear failed to materialize and in its place was a lovely and tasteful chemise and matching kimono, and the only dildo in sight was a Mr. Dick Head, ala Mr. Potato Head, and it was awesome.
Much props are due Tess, who clearly put a lot of time and thought into planning the hootenanny. The decorations were fabulous; the food even more so. Everybody appeared to have a great time, and I got a lot of nice things, with enough naughty thrown in to keep things interesting for a while. Like, remember those candy necklaces we’d get when we were kids? With the Smarty-type candy beaded onto a little elastic string? They make g-string undies out of that stuff now. Rowr.
Phase 2 was also a lot of fun, but I did manage to learn one lesson, and that is this: sparkly tiaras and sashes proclaiming you to be “Miss Bachelorette” are really meant to be worn amidst a group of drunken women. Wear them while sitting alone, clutching a frozen margarita in one hand and spinning the slots with the other while alternately muttering at and cheering on the machine… well, you try it sometime, and just watch the looks you get from people.
Tess was my tour-guide at the casino, too, as I’d never been there before and was a gambling virgin. She, on the other hand, goes there fairly regularly with her work buddies. Two of whom just happened to be camped out on the penny slots by the entrance where we met up with Terrence.
“Tess!” they called when we walked in the door, which got a surprised look from Terrence.
“They know her? They actually call her name when she walks in? What, she comes here so often she’s Norm?”
“Terrence!” called Co-Worker of Tess, who turned out to be a former Co-Worker of Terrence.
“Oh. Hey,” said Terrence.
“Hee!” said I. “If she’s Norm, does that make you Cliff?”
“Shut up.”
Hee.
Anyway. We got drinks, and staked out some machines, and gambling commenced. I won $20! And then I lost it again. Stupid Star Wars slot machine, making old Obi-Wan defeat Darth Vader in the bonus Death Star duel, as if that ever happened. But as for money I actually walked into the casino with, not counting what I spent on drinks, I only lost a buck. Of course, all my big talk about wanting to play Black Jack and Hold ‘Em turned out to be just talk once I got there and got all intimidated by the crowds and the fast dealers and the pricey buy-ins; otherwise I’m sure I’d have been out a lot more.
After we were all tired of losing our money, we headed across the street to the Waffle House where we sobered up on eggs and waffles and coffee and the discovery that L’il Sis couldn’t find the credit card I loaned her to get gas on the way to the casino. “I love you, Sissy,” she kept saying as she dug frantically through her purse, and then through the van, and failing to turn up the card. “Find my card and we’ll talk,” I kept telling her. Finally, a beheading was averted when she called the gas station and confirmed that she’d left it on the counter after paying and they had it tucked safely in their register. “I love you, Sissy,” she said again at the station as I tucked the card into my wallet. “I love you too, you lucky twerp.”
It was the bestest bachelorette party I ever did have.
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