Yesterday, an invitation to my friend Sam’s bachelorette party arrived in the mail. As is my habit, I decided to open the envelope in the elevator while riding up to my floor. I removed the card from its pale pink envelope with a carefree air, thrilled to add another engagement to my social calendar. But my joy was short lived.
As I looked down at the invitation, it took me a moment to realize that I was holding a nine-inch-long cardboard penis in my hand. I heard a gasp from behind me.
I turned around to see my neighbor, a retired college professor, staring back at me, the look on his face reminiscent of a child who just walked in on his parents. I suppose it could have been worse, there are a lot of children in my building. But given that this man spends his evenings reading Proust and sipping wine on the roof deck, it was probably a shocking experience for both of us.
I struggled mightily to shove the one dimensional member back into its paper sheath, but being a klutz by birthright, I dropped it instead. That’s when his geriatric Labrador leapt for the card with the enthusiasm of a puppy. Several mortifying seconds passed while I wrestled the invitation away. The dog continued to lick the floor, his snout now covered in pink glitter. The card was awash in strawberry-flavored sparkles.
That’s right, flavored. Ponder that mental image for a moment. And then consider that somewhere, there is a person who thought, “You know how I can make this penis-themed party invitation even better? I can make it lickable.” Shudder.
I wish I could say that I stepped out of that elevator with my head held high, but I didn’t. I slunk the twenty feet to my front door hiding the invitation inside my alumni magazine. The irony of concealing a penis-shaped party invite inside the pages of Catholic publication not lost on me.
Obviously, the rules of the bachelorette party are new to me (the majority of my close friends live out West). So I decided to ask Sam why she chose that particular invitation, she responded that it was “naughty, raunchy and cute.” Well, one out of three ain’t bad.
It was also, apparently, part of a package of genitalia-themed party favors, accessories, drinking games and attire. Attendees to the party will wear penises on their fingers, on their heads and around their necks. They will eat penis adorned cupcakes and drink cocktails from penis shaped glasses. They’ll also play erection ring toss and beat a penis-shaped pinata with sticks until candy falls out.
I admit that I am deeply confused as to why such a large number of otherwise classy women use bachelorette parties as an excuse to spend their evening gnawing on penis-shaped candy necklaces. When did bachelorette parties become a celebration of all things tacky and phallic? And why would an otherwise conservative interior designer who likes damask-printed wallpaper and Johnathon Adler vases turn her last hoorah of singledom into a shrine to schlongs?
“It’s a Bachelorette Party, Belle,” she said during our G-chat. “You drink tequila, you tell dirty stories and you eat penis-shaped cupcakes. It’s just what you do.”
So what do you think ladies? Are bachelorette parties an excuse for drunken, genitalia-themed revelry? Is there a bachelorette party exemption to the rules of decorum? Is this all just too tacky for words and best avoided? Or has the penis-shaped, strawberry-flavored party invite become a bit of a cliche? Leave your thoughts in the comments.
P.S. Sam was more than happy to let me tell this story on the blog, because as she put it, “I’ve got $100 that says more women agree with me than with you.”