So my friend is getting married next weekend, and the bachelorette party was Saturday. I was a bit worried about going since I’ve been on the thyroid roller coaster from hell recently, but I figured even if my stupid thyroid didn’t behave itself, it was a long weekend and I’d have two full days to recover. So I went, and by some miracle my body decided to be nice to me for once, quite possibly because I was plying it with booze, and I’m glad because I would have missed an amazing shindig otherwise. We ate delicious Mexican food, we drank our weight in alcohol through penis-shaped straws (which I understand are now mandatory at all modern stagettes), and we danced until our feet cried out for mercy.
And any and all conversation remained firmly planted in the gutter, where it belonged.
Spoken Like A True Nut 