I guess this is the part where the wedding — in all of its robust, tulle-ified glory — becomes my albatross:
I’ve got to plan a Bachelorette Party.
The bachelorette party is its own filthy beast, and I mean that in the nicest of ways. Not only am I not getting married but I now must plan an event, replete with plastic penii and fruit-flavored condoms, to remind myself, and the other Unfortunates, of our “Fabulous” Single Life. This is the Bridezilla’s last swan song, where she gets to put on her stripper heels and wear sequins and, for one final time, flounce around like a single woman, all the while with the wonderful, tonic fall-back knowledge of knowing that she isn’t.
Because, ladies, when the chicken cutlets hit the floor, it really, really sucks to be single. And anyone who tries to tell you otherwise clearly hasn’t scrolled down Match.com’s prospects lately.
Nevertheless, it would just be plain awkward if my older sister were planning my bachelorette party, so I will do this one dutiful task as the younger sister with the hope that someday, when I throw out my back cleaning out Chubby Charles’s litterbox, she will be there for me.
Now…where does one go to plan a Bachelorette Party?
