Bachelorette parties are the All-Mighty’s gift to bloggers.
I served three of these gatherings consecutively on a recent Sunday.
My brain is still tingling. My ears are still ringing. My hands are still shaking.
In other words… it was awesome.
Bachelorette parties are fascinating studies in gender bias. When men behave like drunken, horny idiots we may roll our eyes but we certainly aren’t surprised. When women try such behavior on for size, however, we label them sluts or worse, Kardashians. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, right? Hopefully society will begin to evolve soon but one never knows, does one? So let’s move on.
Each group had their own dynamic (for example, all-brown, one less attractive gal to five knock-outs, all midgets) but they all had one thing in common: they were all hungover and nuttier than the proverbial fruitcake. Again, it was awesome. Over the years I’ve adopted a pretty simple yet effective protocol when it comes to serving these groups.
I stay the hell out of their way and let the blog material roll in. Yes, I am a frakkin’ genius, thank you very much.
One of my “new friends” decided to bring the mother of all dirty piñatas to her bachelorette party – filled with sex toys. Yes, she gets points for originality. I wish I had been able to snap a pic of this chick; she had a Toronto Blue Jays jersey on and a tutu that appeared to have been slept in. But the best part about picking up luggage from this room? The baseball bat the ladies used.
I felt like Negan strolling through the lobby with that thing. For once no one messed with me as I made my way through the Sunday morning check-out horde.
“Who feels like getting in The Hook’s way?”
It really was empowering carrying that bat around. And anyone who knows me knows I had fun with the entire situation. Big time.
Sadly, I had to return it to my guests; they places to be and more hotels to terrorize. At any rate, each room yielded some new material. Here now, are a few snippets of dialogue I gleaned from each room; sometimes that’s all I get as I’m waiting in the hallway. Of course, sometimes that’s all I need…
TOWERING BLONDE BACHELORETTE: Hey! Whose condoms are these?
MINI BACHELORETTE: Are they Magnums? If they’re not Magnums, they’re not mine!
ME: (From the hallway.) Well, as long as they’re not the Bride’s… anyone can have ’em!
ALL: Ha! You’re one funny son-of-a-bitch!
ME: Yeah, they tried to put “Robert: One Funny Son-Of-A-Bitch” on my nametag, but they ran out of room…
Text doesn’t really do the laughter in question much justice, I know. If it helps, one girl spit her coffee all over the bride, which led to this little gem…
“Hey, that’s the second time in twenty-four hours that someone spilled bodily fluid all over you, Tracy!”
Tracy’s husband-to-be really hit the jackpot, didn’t he?
Another room was all about the search for life’s indispensable item s as well.
“Whose Vaseline is this?”
“Anyone see my penis stickers?”
“I hope someone packed my handcuffs in their bag.. I can’t find ’em!”
“Did we finish all the penis cupcakes, girls?”
“Who moved my vibrator?”
“Whose picture of a firemen’s wiener is this?”
And yes, I think they remembered I was standing in the hall waiting for their luggage, but who knows? This next room/incident needs no further elaboration.
How do you top that? It would take a better blogging bellman from Niagara Falls named The Hook than me to accomplish that feat, friends.
See you in the lobby, kids…