A friend of mine is getting married for the first time. It’s over a decade since most of my friends settled down so it’s nice to see people are still finding their person. As she began recapping the engagement story, I felt my mind wandering, panicking a bit. Will there be a bachelorette party? Maybe it’ll be a sophisticated event since we are older and everything. “Either way, I’m going to have to go,” I thought selfishly,while she basked in the details of one of the most exciting events of her life.
As a single lady who has never been married, you have to go to the bachelorette party. If you don’t, they think you’re jealous and I’d rather spend $350 doing something I don’t want to do than have somebody thinking I want what they have.
I secretly hoped there would be a manly celebration: a whisky tasting, a steak house: a strip club, something along those lines. The truth is, the last bachelorette party I went to resulted in mixed feelings on my behalf. On the one hand, we went to a male strip club, on the other hand, I felt poorly about my choice of outfits that night which can really tarnish your time.
I remember I was pretty pumped to check out Hunk a Mania. I was stone cold single at the time and I had grandiose thoughts of meeting a smart stripper. A good guy just trying to put himself through business school, perhaps he lived in his grandmother’s three family brownstone. With this in mind, I made a specific decision. I was going to dress up like a rich lady in order to give off the impression of being a rich lady. Maybe a little too young to know what to do with all the fake money I had. I put on a black one-piece jumpsuit with a cowl neck and some fringed bell sleeves. I had my hair blown out straight and sleek and wore minimal make up. Real classy looking, ya know. Then I went to meet my friends who were clearly dressed differently than I. I liked that. My plan had worked. I stood out.
We entered the club and sure enough three strippers surrounded me, gyrating. I remained calm – cool- wealthy, until one of the strippers put his arm around my waist, looked me in the eye and said “mother of the bride”
Noooooooo, my character façade cracked, the anger I felt about his misperception of my persona flashed over my face. Within moments, they were gone. On to the next one.
I spent the next few hours trying to act like I hadn’t heard that the strippers thought I was old enough to be my friend’s mom. “It’s the outfit,” I kept saying to myself. I watched the strippers from a distance. I didn’t know if they were smart or what their aspirations were. I didn’t even talk to them mostly because they didn’t talk to me. Eventually I left early. I couldn’t stand to be in that outfit anymore. The outfit I was sure would make me stand out, had caused me to blend into the shadows. I couldn’t tell my friends what was wrong. I’d sound hypersensitive. So I left.
When I was walking out they tried to give me a bracelet for reentry. I told them I had an early morning meeting and I wouldn’t be back.
For a moment I was having fun again Lying.
That was the last bachelorette party I went to.
That was also the last time I went out in public in my wealthy woman persona.
I think I’m due.
Thanks for listening!
Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.