I left you with a description of my geriatric version of “getting down”. At the time I believed all statements of my immense prude-itude to be accurate. I headed to the glittering streets of Nashville for my bachelorette party convinced that this place could not possibly, possibly!, do for me what a snack and a comfy couch could. Not to sound like a party pooper or anything, but as I broke free from hectic, last-minute wedding plans, I was sure this party was one foul toot away from getting flushed down the shitter. There was too much to be done at home, too many reasons I did not, in any way, shape, or spandex club outfit, want to engage in the sinful ruckus that is the downtown night life. I just wanted a nap. Just a nap and maybe a foot rub. I just…..
….ordered and gulped one cocktail called The EXTREME Heaven, felt the burn of it’s appropriate named-ness, and lost every shred of social decency I’d come so close to faking. Behold! ‘Twas the week before wedding and all through the town, not a creature could tame her, not even a cop. She boogied. She sang. She drank with no shame. She woke up Sunday and knew she’d have to type the story in third person. Her, I would not blame. I wouldn’t want to own that mess either.
I never did get to watch Golden Girls or knit or enjoy a luxurious lap around the shopping mall in my 1/2 pound wrist weights that night. I’d consider this a failure of a celebration if it’s weren’t for the extreme, heavenly celebrating we were busy with.
And now? A poll because…. a poll! The reader who comes the closest wins a big ol’ Bloggy Wedding themed prize!
QUERSTION: What body part could Tori not stop flashing all night?
Sounds scandalous, and maybe it is. Guess correctly and victory is yours!