In my whole life, I’ve been to exactly one (1!) bachelorette party. It was one that I planned and hosted, for my then underaged (as far as drinking and getting into clubs goes) sister, at a time when I was both much more overweight and much more uptight about alcohol and much more squeamish about the very idea of my baby sister having The Sex than I am now.
This is how I remember it: there was bowling. At the bowling alley, because I was not then and shall never be above inflicting a little humiliation upon the siblings, I forced L’il Sis to wear a cheap veil and a very tame version of one of those bachelorette scavenger hunt to-do list t-shirts, the ones with the checklist of items like “Ask a guy at the bar to dance” or “get a guy with blue eyes to spank you and sign your shirt.” After bowling a few games and putting her through all of the various minor embarrassments listed on her shirt, it was time for Big Sis, S-I-L and anybody else there who was over 30 or had any sense to excuse themselves and abandon me with the not-quite-twenty-somethings for the slumber party portion of the festivities. The rest of us went back to L’il Sis’s abode where there was (illegal) drinking, a showering of lingerie, the watching of movies, and constant interruptions by L’il B-I-L to be and his “posse,” who kept leaving their bachelor party to come and stalk ours.
I remember doing tequila shots and drinking margaritas. I remember bits and pieces of Boogie Nights and getting irritated at all the interruptions, because silly me, I didn’t get the memo that movies weren’t for watching, they were just for background noise and for killing time between Attacks of the Boys. I remember that I saw Evil Dead 2 for the first time that night, and everybody actually settled down for it so that I could pay attention, and that it was a freaking revelation.
Mostly, I remember all the smoking. L’il Sis and all her friends smoked. I didn’t. I couldn’t really do anything about it, since it was her place, other than keep going outside for breathing breaks. I also recall discovering that 19 year olds have very different energy levels from 27 year olds, and that I did actually hope to get some slumber at some point that night. I remember being curled up for an hour in a recliner, a blanket over my nose and mouth to filter out the second-hand smoke, a pillow over my head to filter out the drone of drunken, sleep-deprived, nicotine-fueled, like rilly rilly deep discussions of nineteen-year-old philosophy. And then I remember deciding that I was sober enough and awake enough to drive home and sleep in my own bed.
And so I did. The end.
This is how L’il Sis remembers it: I humiliated her at the bowling alley, then at her house I had no fun at all, got mad at everybody about all the drinking, and stormed out in the middle of the night to go home.
So. Tonight’s my bachelorette party.
Between the fact that twenty-five year olds have very different energy levels than thirty-three year olds, and the fact that L’il Sis is surely looking for payback, and the disclosure that she doesn’t think a bachelorette party is a bachelorette party unless there’s a dildo somewhere in the mix, preferably several of them in the form of a crown atop the bride's head... I thought it best to ask Tess to plan the party. Neither of us are very much the party type, so it’s intended to be a pretty low-key affair: first a girls-only lingerie shower at the house, and then we’ll all go meet up with my friend Terrence at the Cherokee casino to have some drinks and play some slots until we all run out of money.
L’il Sis, however, seems to be planning her own version of the party. One involving humiliation and revenge. And dildos.
I’m afraid, you guys. I have fear.
I’m also apprehensive of the fact that, while L’il Sis and her friends (with whom I’m on a friendly acquaintance level, and who are coming to the party) are all mommies and are therefore very aware of the importance of sleep, they’re also all 25 or thereabouts. As I said before, 25 is not 33. What they don’t understand, and won’t until they get there, is how once you’re past 30, if you don’t give your cells sleep when they demand it, they start to protest by shutting down and refusing to function. Brain cells are the worst about this. Seriously, people, it's not like your body really gives you a choice about this whole sleep thing once you pass 30. It's no longer capable of producing new cells to replace the old ones, and the old ones are just so damn tired. I was as surprised by this as anybody, believe me.
So I’m seeing one of two things happening: one is that I’ll get tired and grumpy and insist on calling it an early night so I can go home and sleep, thereby cementing the impression I made last time as a humorless killjoy. Or possibly just an old fart. Actually, I think I can live with an “old fart” label. Anyway, the other is that my desire to prove that I’m still young and fun and capable of fully enjoying my very own bachelorette party will take over and try to keep me out all night until I become stupid-tired, then just plain stupid, and between that and the alcohol I won’t need L’il Sis and her dildos to bring about my humiliation.
It’s possible that I’m over-thinking this.
Despite the fear, though, I’m excited, because this day is finally here, which means that the wedding day is really almost here, just around the corner, a single week away. We’re no longer counting down in months, or weeks, but in days. Days! How awesome is that?
I also know that I will enjoy myself tonight, especially if I can manage to shut off the analytic part of my brain and just go with the flow. Maybe if my brain cells aren’t straining so hard to find reasons to not let myself do anything, they won’t get so tired so soon, and I’ll actually last until a totally irresponsible hour of the morning.
And maybe if I put on my best “whatever, it’s all good” zen attitude—or maybe if I can just keep my brain cells sufficiently lubricated and happy to the point that it really is all good—L’il Sis and her Dildos of Discomfiture can just go ahead and bring it on.
Except I really hope she doesn’t make me wear one of those shirts.
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