This past weekend I successfully executed my first-ever bachelorette party for my friend Beth.  We spent the weekend re-living our college years (IHOP, Bubble Tea, listening to me prattle on about an older man I’m crushing on) and doing all the things we never got to do while we were at college (Carousels, hiking the nature preserve).  A fun time was had by all.

My co-maid-of-honor was in charge of bringing up all the bachelorette goodies–the sash, scrapbook-making materials, chocolate penis molds.  She, unlike me, goes to a lot of bachelorette parties, possibly because she has friends and a life outside of work.

But among the fancy paper and the cheap chocolate, she also brought up a card game designed to be played at a bar, where one gets points for doing the dare on the card.  Kissing five guys, standing up and screaming “I’m lonely, somebody marry me!” or getting a bald guy to buy you a shot.  You know, the kind of basic-bitch behavior that makes everyone hate you and wish you were dead. These points are redeemable for clearly nothing but self-loathing and shame.

How You Doin’, Good-Lookin’?

HEY, JERK-BRIDES: No one but you gives a hoot that you’re getting married.  Finally tricking some wide-striped polo-shirt wearing broseph into going to Jared and buying you an enormous ugly ring is not a reason to sexually assault, humiliate or annoy other people.  Maybe those five guys don’t want a sloppy kiss from some appletini-drenched skank.  Maybe that bald guy doesn’t want to be a source of your drunken amusement.  And maybe the rest of us are trying to enjoy a night out with our friends without you screaming about how no one wants to marry you.  I can’t imagine why the kind of classy dames who enjoy these stupid games are still single.

(Also: There is a special place in hell for people who put $20 into the jukebox and use that to play terrible faux-country songs and Kesha.  Especially if they’re wearing rompers as outerwear).

Luckily, Beth, who is neither a basic bitch nor a jerk-bride, agreed with me that this game was creepy and weird, and we laid down a hard-line “NOPE” and Michelle didn’t push the issue.   After all, I’m engaged too, and Michelle has a boyfriend, and I’m not going to A) cheat on my fiance with some 25 year old frat guy named Jaysonn or B) Allow Beth to cheat on hers under some misguided, imagined notion that the whole world has to stop and celebrate her special day, regardless of their own lives or comfort.  And neither would Michelle.  Beth deserves all the awesomeness the world can offer, but she deserves it all her way, not some Spencer-Gifts approved vulgarity designed to humiliate everyone involved.

So instead we hiked and ate and made penis chocolates and went in the hotel hot tub and did our mud masks and rode six carousels in three hours.  She had an awesome time.  And that’s all that mattered to me.