This weekend one of my best friends loaded her luggage in my Jeep and we took a road trip to the beach for the first time in awhile. Sara and I were off to celebrate another long-time bestie, Colleen. After a string of jerks Colleen found Thomas. I knew when I met him that he was one. I was very fortunate to be able to go to the party since my aunt and uncle live a mile off the island. I was five minutes away from Henry if he needed me. It was the first night I spent away from my little 5-month-old.
Of the girls in our grade in the sorority, I was one of the first to get married. Let me assure you, I didn’t plan for it to be that way. Before I met Greyson I was convinced I wouldn’t get married until my 30’s. Love changes the best laid plans. It’s hard to believe it will be nine years this month. Colleen is one of the last to get married. We laugh about the differences between planning a wedding at 23 (me) and at 32 (her). For example, Colleen bought her own awesome Jimmy Choos to wear down the aisle because she makes her own money and she can. I didn’t ask my parents for Jimmy Choos since I was only two years out of college, poor and counting on them to pay for everything. I wouldn’t change anything, but don’t tell my parents or my husband that I do envy the maturity of Colleen’s wedding.
This is the only photographic evidence of my bachelorette party that I will share. It is edited to protect your fragile eyes. Yes, it is a blinking penis necklace.
My party consisted of dinner, then a game of “Pin The Penis On The Hunk” and so many shots. So. Many. As each friend walked down the aisle, there was some ridiculous celebration or another. One girl wore a “Suck for a Buck” t-shirt covered in Lifesavers. For another friend we hid paper hearts with guys in bars and the bride had to go up to them and ask if they “had a heart on.” Some cowboy beefcake stripper boarded the party bus for my sister. The stories go on and on. All of these were during my twenties.
This weekend we had the privilege of staying at a family friend’s beautiful island mansion. We strolled on the dock, went out to a nice dinner and stopped at one bar. It wasn’t crowded. We danced for a bit, had a few drinks and were back at the house by 11:45. There was only one penis thing. A penis cake. This one had fondant and was baked by an actual chef. We laughed, remembering ten years ago when we bought some Betty Crocker mix and baked penis cakes for another friend.
I looked at Colleen’s happy face and realized this is so much better. We were silly college girls, then funny twenty-somethings and now we’re experienced. We’re wives, divorcees, mothers, professionals and still friends.
I looked at the cake and thought about that stupid blinking necklace and said, “You know, my relationship with the penis has changed now that I wipe a tiny one all the time.” The passage of time, penis by penis.