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An hour later, things have not improved. I’m learning that weddings are serious business, with Google spreadsheets and accountabilities and brainstorming sessions and rehearsals anddressrehearsals. I wouldn’t be shocked if one of them asked me to set a SMART goal for how I want the wedding to go.
And it’s not even my damn wedding!
Better live vicariously while you can, Little Miss Not-Marriage-Material.
I shake off my snarky inner voice and concentrate on my second beer. Not only did I cave and reach for my drink before any of them even glanced at their prosecco, but I’m currently entering the stage of the evening where my verbal filter clocks out.
And unfiltered Drew isnotfor the faint of heart.
“So, games for the hen’s night. We’re thinking something fun, like a quiz on how well we know Presley.” Pauline taps a Montblanc pen against her chin. “Maybe some wedding-related trivia.”
“And pass the parcel.” Annaleigh claps her hands together. “We could include fun wedding things, like a garter and a pen for signing the guest book.”
“Or condoms.” The comment slips out before I can check in with my brain. See? Unfiltered. “You know, for the...wedding night.”
Sherilee laughs awkwardly and moves her pen as if she’s writing it down, but I can see that no ink is being wasted on my suggestion.
“I saw this cute take on pin the tail on the donkey,” Pauline says. “But you had to pin the kiss marks on a picture of Ryan Gosling. Fun, right?”
This suggestion is met with a round of appreciativeoohs. I went to a hen party once where we had to pin something on a poster of a hot, half-naked guy...and it wasn’t a kiss. But I get the impression that games involving photorealistic male appendagesalsowouldn’t make the cut for Presley’s capitalPPerfect hen’s night.
Stop snarking. Now.
“What about a goodbye singleton treasure hunt?” I suggest. “A friend of mine did that last year and it was really fun.”
“Sounds interesting.” Annaleigh drums her nails against the tabletop. “How does it work?”
“It’s kind of likeThe Amazing Racebut for all the things you would do when you were single. You get a point for each item—get a guy’s phone number, dance on a table, do a shot with a dirty name.”
“Actually, that soundssuperfun.” Annaleigh looks at me, surprised.
Phew. Maybe I won’t disappoint Presley after all.
“We could have a scaling point system. The more difficult the item, the higher the point value. And we could have tie-breaker activities in case two people have the same amount of points.” Sherilee’s eyes widen. “I’ll make a spreadsheet.”
I decide it’s a good idea to end on a high note. I’ve provided one useful suggestion—whichdidget written down, thank you very much—so that means I can now make a graceful-ish exit. Well, as graceful as is possible after a couple of beers while wearing platforms.
“Ladies, as much as I amthoroughlyenjoying myself right now, I’ve got an early start tomorrow,” I announce. “Can we wrap this up?”
“Sure.” Annaleigh looks as relieved as I feel. “Sherilee is our resident note taker, so she’ll send the minutes out. If you could review them and respond within twenty-four hours, that would be great.”
I nod, swallowing my growing desire to murder my sister. “Absolutely. I will definitely read every single word. Even the footnotes.”
At this, Sherilee perks up. “Usuallynobodyreads my footnotes.”
Sarcasm is a foreign language, I see. Lord help me. I down the remainder of my beer and rest the empty pint glass on the bar with athunk. “Happy to be the first.”
“And the best man will email you tomorrow,” Annaleigh reminds me. “If you don’t hear from him, let me know.”
I climb down from my bar stool and bid them a good night. The bar’s clientele mirrors my sister’s friends—suits and pencil skirts, perfectly highlighted hair. Pearls, diamonds, Louboutins. Presley would fit right in. I decide to text her as I walk.
DREW: I love you more than anyone else on earth.
PRES: Wow. That bad, huh?
DREW: Where do you find these people?
PRES: They’re my friends, D. Be nice. I know they’re a little intense.
