S’s bachelorette party is tomorrow night.
I’m really curious to find out what kind of trouble she’s going to get up to. When we first started going out S used to regale me with all these stories about how her work friends were the ultimate party animals. These booze soaked adventures were always outlandish, over the top and spoken of in the deepest reverential tones.
Yet whenever I met members of this group (weddings, Christmas parties…weddings) it was apparent by the number of swollen bellies in the crowd that their heavy partying days were in the past. So instead of Courtney Love, I got to meet Martha Stewart, only minus the jail time.
But tomorrow, in a much requested revival tour, the husbands will be left at home with the children and the women will finally paint the town red again.
S has been handed a list of various tawdry items that she will be expected to bring to her party leaving only the sickest and most depraved imaginations, such as my own, to concoct a convoluted game plan that justifies their usage.
(A health card, really?)
Just like the Polka-roo the myth of the RT party animal will be just that, something often heard about, but rarely seen.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment