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“And blow jobs, don’t forget those.”
We have let’s-see-how-quiet-we-can-be sex, and then we order champagne, tell our friends, and celebrate the best damn decision we’ve made about the wedding since we got engaged.19Seriously, These MomsVIOLETWe are moderately hungover the next morning when our parents arrive. Daisy and my mom have spent the entire thirty-minute drive to the hotel calling all sorts of people: setting up hair appointments for tomorrow and a spa/shopping day today. We have literally half an hour to get our asses in gear, which is asking a lot based on my current state.
Robbie and Sidney are way more laidback. They make themselves comfortable on the couch in our suite’s living room while they watch sports highlights.
I want to have an outtie instead of an innie today so I can relax like the boys.
Alex gives me some kind of orange fizzy drink he says will make me feel better, along with Tylenol. Then he dresses me—I don’t get to appreciate his fondling because his mom and my mom keep knocking on the door, asking if I’m ready to go—and sends me off with the girls.
By the time we get to the spa, I’m feeling much better. Lily looks worn out, though; she nodded off three times during the drive.
I elbow her in the side and whisper, “Lily, Lily, Lily.”
She grabs my hand and puts it on her thigh—high up on her thigh. “Just another ten minutes, Randy. Then I’ll open the Vagina Emporium again.”
Charlene barks out a laugh, and Lily sits up, blinking rapidly.
“Oh. We’re here already? I must’ve nodded off.” She touches her face and smoothes her skirt, which has ridden up.
“What’s a Vagina Emporium? Is it a sex shop?” my mom asks.
More laughter follows, along with Lily’s embarrassed groan.
“No, Mom, that’s what Lily calls her vagina since she lets Balls put whatever he wants in there.”
Lily slaps my arm. “Is no topic off limits with you?”
“Why just the other day, Sunny and I talked about sex during pregnancy. Didn’t we, Sunny?” Daisy says, as if she’s trying to make Lily feel better.
“We sure did!” Sunny smiles, but it’s the kind of smile she wears when Miller’s eating wings and tries to kiss her.
My mom climbs over Daisy so she can get out of the car instead of waiting since Daisy’s fussing with her hair again. She’s really owning the new style. In fact, it’s been flat-ironed recently, so I think she’s checking to make sure it’s not frizzy, which isn’t going to happen in Vegas like it does in Chicago.
We can’t all get manicures at the same time, so they split us up. I get pampered with a massage and some kind of wrap-scrub thing, during which I fall asleep. I feel incredibly refreshed when I pad out to the massager chairs and plunk down next to Lily, who’s sleeping while a lady gives her a pedicure.
Three hours of beautifying later, we’re prettied up with matching nails—red, of course—and ready for dress shopping. All I currently have with me are some slutty ones that show lots of cleavage because, well, we’re in Vegas.
We discover quickly that classy and wedding is a difficult combination to find in Vegas. There are a lot of dresses that make me look like a seriously well-paid hooker, or a showgirl. After three stores I’m starting to lose hope, and steam.
With the fourth one, we hit the jackpot. Daisy discovers a rack of dresses by a designer whose last name is another word for dick. Apparently she’s amazing and coming across something like this is unheard of. The dresses are gorgeous. The first one I try on is super poofy and makes it look like I’m wearing a vagina with really big, floppy lips from the waist down.
I try on a few that are super princessy, and I twirl around like an idiot, partly because it’s fun, and partly because Lily bought traveler wine and I’ve been sipping it since we left the spa. The next one I try on is this lovely flowy thing that’s gauzy with a pale purple sheen instead of being off-white.
My mom is in the dressing room with me. She takes a sip from the mini bottle of wine and passes it to me. It’s white, so it’s safe.
“This is it. This is the dress, Violet.”
“You think so?” I turn and check out the back. It’s mostly sheer, almost to my ass crack. But it’s not slutty. Not by Vegas standards anyway.
She tears up and takes my face in her palms. They’re kind of sweaty. “Look at you. You’re so beautiful. I did a pretty decent job on you, didn’t I?”
“I think so.”
“And you’re marrying this incredible man, and it has nothing to do with the fact that his dick is as big as his bank account, because he’s just so sweet.”
