Last weekend was what we’ll agree to call my bachelorette party. It’s hard to articulate why, but I do feel a bit silly calling it a “bachelorette party.” I mean, for the love of dog, I am thirty-five years old. I have lived. I also hardly feel that these are the last fun days of my youthful single life, or anything.
But you know what? I will happily embrace the chance to spend some time with my girlfriends wearing a fun dress and drinking champagne and bourbon and eating great food and laughing and being silly. THAT is exactly my speed. So no, nothing terribly scandalous went down, but we did have a fantastic time.
My two BFFs — we just realized we’ve known each other for about 17 years by now, having met our freshman year of college — came into town from their neighboring states and stayed for the weekend, so we got plenty of concentrated hanging-out time. It was fabulous. The three of us try to have a get-together at least once a year, but we realized it had been a good while since we last made it happen. Our trip to visit Mel in Asheville was our last big weekend together, so this was long overdue.
Saturday night, we joined up with a bunch of my local girlfriends and went out for cocktails and a really nice dinner at a new local restaurant. I ate some “hen of the woods” mushrooms, which were a strange surprise, and tried about four different fantastic desserts. And my friends, they…they may have made me wear a tiara. And a sash, and a blinking ring. It was fun.
In the meanwhile, CW had his brother in town for the weekend and they got to have a guys’ weekend along with a bunch of his friends here in town, so now we’ve both had our “last night of fun” and “freedom” as single people. It’s all downhill form here! Heh.
Actually, having had the bachelorette weekend just makes me feel now that the wedding is really approaching. In fact, as I write this, it is only 22 days away. That’s, um, three weeks. EEEEEEP!