The Canadians Call Them "Stagettes"

Bachelorettes, I mean.

And life intrudes again. I have been so crazy running around with this stoop wedding, and I let my sister/sole bridesmaid off the hook for planning a bachelorette, considering she is 3000 miles from here and up to her ears in her own life, so I forgot I'd want one until this morning when Dave was on the phone wrangling friends for what started as a weekend in MExico in a house complete with its own strippers -- seriously, house strippers -- morphed into two nights in Vegas, and has since been downgraded to a big steak dinner and what I'm sure will involve a visit to a titty bar in town. Fine. Whatever.

But then, the question of the co-dependant arose: What the hell am I supposed to do while he's out there on the town?

So I sent an evite to my lady friends suggesting spa and dinner for the same day. And they, god-bless them, all told me I had no business planning my own do, and kicked me off the committee. I love my girlfriends.

I also love, that on the evening of Saturday the 26, apparently I will have something to do.

Chapter 2, meanwhile, has gotten relatively short shrift but is in okay condition for bringing home to the shockingly insightful man I'm going to marry in 37 days.

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