Sunday, June 04, 2017
The Bachelorette
So one of my female friends (we'll call her Bonnie) is getting married next month, and yesterday was the shower and the bachelorette. The invite list for these events was entirely female but, as so often happens, I knew I would be getting last-minute pleas to join in, less because I am interesting than because when you are drunk lots of things seem like a good idea. And so, when I got back from my run around 3 yesterday, I had the following text messages:
Men, we need you to be strippers for Bonnie's bachelorette party tonight.
This isn't a joke.
100% serious.
Wait, stop responding to this chain.
I'm an idiot. I put Bonnie on it.
You're dead to us. Because you don't know how to text.
When the conversation resumed on a new text thread, I politely demurred, explaining that I had a prior engagement stripping for someone else. But as one might have guessed, this was not to be the last of it. Hours later, while walking the dogs on the 606, I got the following text messages:
Guys, the frosting on the penis cake is melting.
Premature ejaculation.
When does it officially start?
7:30 I think, but I don't know, because I never do.
Jay are you really not coming? Bonnie may not go through with the marriage if you do not.
Why did I take an uber pool with my inflatable penis?
PHOTO OF INFLATABLE PENIS IN UBER POOL
Why did you inflate it before you got there?
I held out for a few more hours -- really just long enough to get through this week's DVR offerings -- before heading over. And it was super fun, even if I did have to get up at 8 this morning for church with my mom.
So one of my female friends (we'll call her Bonnie) is getting married next month, and yesterday was the shower and the bachelorette. The invite list for these events was entirely female but, as so often happens, I knew I would be getting last-minute pleas to join in, less because I am interesting than because when you are drunk lots of things seem like a good idea. And so, when I got back from my run around 3 yesterday, I had the following text messages:
Men, we need you to be strippers for Bonnie's bachelorette party tonight.
This isn't a joke.
100% serious.
Wait, stop responding to this chain.
I'm an idiot. I put Bonnie on it.
You're dead to us. Because you don't know how to text.
When the conversation resumed on a new text thread, I politely demurred, explaining that I had a prior engagement stripping for someone else. But as one might have guessed, this was not to be the last of it. Hours later, while walking the dogs on the 606, I got the following text messages:
Guys, the frosting on the penis cake is melting.
Premature ejaculation.
When does it officially start?
7:30 I think, but I don't know, because I never do.
Jay are you really not coming? Bonnie may not go through with the marriage if you do not.
Why did I take an uber pool with my inflatable penis?
PHOTO OF INFLATABLE PENIS IN UBER POOL
Why did you inflate it before you got there?
I held out for a few more hours -- really just long enough to get through this week's DVR offerings -- before heading over. And it was super fun, even if I did have to get up at 8 this morning for church with my mom.
