Last week’s news: The Bachelorette Party

The march toward my only sibling’s wedding continues. Last Saturday we “girls” took the lovely Kristen out to Atlantic City for her bachelorette party!

We took a limousine there, and ate dinner at Carmine’s at the Tropicana. Mmmmm….

Then we headed to Planet Rose karaoke club where we had our own private room with our own private karaoke machine. Which was broken. Ah, well. I sang “Jesse’s Girl” with a few other of the ‘maids. I had that song on … a record album. Most of the girls were born after it came out.

(sigh)

Being the most — senior — of the bridesmaids DID come in handy, though. See…after a certain age a lady stops fretting about silly things. Or being seen as silly. Or doing silly things.

So when we were each handed a fun little Bachelorette Party scratch off ticket at the casino and mine revealed this…

Sit on lap of the best looking guy and say nothing at all...

…yeah. No problem.

Since the best looking guy was NOT at the casino (he was home) I’d have to settle.

The first guy turned me down, mumbling “girlfriend coming girlfriend coming girlfriend coming” between clenched teeth. Eh, no biggie.

The second guy was a part of a bachelor party.

Oh, here’s something: bachelor/ette parties have really changed since I got married in the dark ages of 1997. My bachelorette party was a night at the Tropicana too. We went to their comedy club and ate…somewhere. It was tame enough that my mom and aunt came along.

Nowadays the casinos are filled with roaming bands of bachelors and bachelorettes and their attending parties. We all seemed to find each other though the night. Pictures were taken. Very fun.

Second guy wasn’t very bright. He had his bachelor take a picture with our bachelorette and I figured since he was into the whole party thing, I’d swoop in for the kill.

I sidled up to him (I believe he was the best man) and gave him the most coquettish look I could muster.

Well, better than that. But isn’t the dress lovely? I smiled and showed him the lottery ticket.

“Huh? I don’t get it.”

My quarry wasn’t bright.

I showed him the ticket again. I pointed to the phrases. I smiled again.

“You want me to scratch this?”

Dumb puppy.

“You want to sit on my lap??”

Bingo, sunshine. I took his hand, led him to a stool near a slot machine and sat on his lap. A picture was snapped.

“I think you’re pretty good looking too,” he said.

The girls were impressed.

And I got to toss something else on the list of things I’d never have done when I was in my 20s.