And then I had a partay.
For the evening portion of the event, my fab bridal party, a.k.a.
(can you tell I just watched "Love Guru"? I'm trademarking everything!), organized a dinner at Tapeo, a tapas restaurant in Boston. (An aside: I don't speak English with an accent, but somehow whenever I say "tapas," someone hears "topless." What's up with that? And it's clearly not wishful thinking on their part, since I don't got much to show up there.) While we're totally off topic, let me assure you that this post is totally safe for work; my bachelorette party was 100% penis-free!
One of my friends, who wasn't able to make it to Boston for the event, had a bottle of champagne sent to the table. Classy, huh? But then the waiter poured it into this phallic "communal" vessel. I feign modesty and ask, "What am I supposed to do with this?"
Oh, who am I fooling?! I have devil horns on, for goodness sake; I know exactly what to do with this . . .
pour champagne all over my face and in my eye! D'oh.
Friend-of-honor B prepared a newlywed-type game in which she asked Mr. HC a number of questions and I had to guess what he'd say. First question: "When does Miss HC look her best?" Mr. HC's response: "She'll say I'd say [deleted for inappropriate content]. The truth: When she's not wearing any makeup, wearing glasses, in her red pajamas . . . ." I get both answers right! Woo hoo! It turns out I rock at the newlywed game!
My friends are smiling here because a) they are proud of how well Mr. HC and I know each other, b) they are attempting to mask the horror of knowing way too much info about my relationship with Mr. HC, c) they are delirious from too much sangria, or d) all of the above.
After dinner, we head out into a snowy Boston evening. But no snow emergency was going to keep us away from the swanky bar at the newly opened Mandarin Oriental Hotel.
Some bachelorettes have strippers. Some have frat boys who wanna be strippers. I got these suave gentlemen. Turtleneck and navy blazer? Hot. Bow tie and wool cardigan? Saucy. One of the FOHs mentioned that the bar scene at the Mandarin Oriental looked like the type of place escorts went to pick up international businessmen. Emboldened by my devil horns, I take it upon myself to ask these gentlemen whether they were international businessmen. "Why yes," the one who looked like Thurston J. Howell, III says, "we are international businessmen!" Such good sports, those two!
I also got points for certain "dares," like dancing with this guy. He wasn't loving the attention at all. No, not at all. And he was working that boa like some sort of pro.
My last dare was to kiss the security guard on our way out. It was total sexual harassment, and he did not enjoy it. I think he thought I was the abominable snowwoman. But how is one to wear a feather boa and a devil veil in 15-degree weather except over a giant snow parka and fleece hat?!
Thanks ladies for braving a snow emergency to celebrate my bat-chelorette shower-mitzvah and to help me score some fiiiine international businessmen. The event couldn't have been better planned or more "me"! I feel lucky to have such a thoughtful and creative group of friends.
How did you dress for your bachelorette party? Was your uber-sexy get-up foiled by the weather?