Right now, my poor best friend is wearing a rhinestone tiara with a veil attached, a sash across the front of her that reads, “Bride to Be”, and underneath that sash, a tee-shirt with individually wrapped suckers strategically attached directly on top of her boobs.  In bright pink glitter puff paint are the words, “Suck for a Buck”.

“I’m in bachelorette party hell!” Liz screeches.

I reach over and started plucking suckers off of her boobs.

“It’s okay; I’m going to get you out of this,” I tell her.

“Claire Donna Morgan, I hope you’re giving my daughter a dollar for every one of those suckers you are removing from her shirt!”

It's like something out of a movie.  The music that pumps out of the limo’s speakers screeches to a halt and all of the laughter from our friends immediately dies.

“Run!  Save yourself!” Liz whispers loudly as she tries to shove me away from her.

I slowly stand up and put on a brave face, letting my friend know that I will take one for the team.  I will stand in between her and sudden bachelorette party death.  I turn around just in time to be bum rushed in the aisle.

“Can you believe my baby is getting married?!” Mrs. Gates squeals as she throws a sash over my head that reads, “Maid-of-Honor” before I can blink.

She pulls me into a tight hug, bouncing me up and down like we're long lost sorority sisters, the cloying scent of White Diamonds perfume surrounding me and threatening to make my eyes water.

Where my family is more along the lines of the Connor family from the show Roseanne, Alice’s family leans more toward The Brady Bunch.

On crack.

Or maybe acid.

Which is the one that makes you see fuzzy bunnies singing about lollypops and kittens and puppies frolicking on a rainbow?

“Claire, I am entrusting you to make sure my baby has a great time tonight,” Mrs. Gates says sternly as she pulls away from me and thrusts a piece of paper in my hand.  “This is a treasure hunt for Liz.  You have to make sure she does every single thing on the list before the night is out.  I’ve been told this is all the rage with you young people.”

Don’t look down at the list; don’t look down at the list.

“Well, don’t just stand there, Claire.  Look at the list!” Mrs. Gates demands excitedly.

“Get a stranger to give you his underwear,” I mutter, reading the first line.

Mrs. Gates squeals like little girl.  “Oh my gosh this is going to be a hoot!  Keep reading!”

I take a deep breath, forcing the vomit that had lodged itself in my throat to remain where it is and not splatter all over the piece of paper in my hand.

On second thought…no list equals no scavenger hunt.

“And don’t worry, I made enough copies for everyone!” Liz’s mom says enthusiastically as she pulls a handful of papers out of her purse and starts passing them out.

I cover my hand over my mouth as I scan the list.  No point in puking now.  I’ll never be able to projectile vomit far enough to reach all the copies.

Find a guy with an accent.

Meet a guy with the same name as the groom and take a picture with him.

Make out with one of the bridesmaids.

I really don’t think I should be sober for this right now.

“Mrs. Gates, you are looking positively radiant this evening.  Have I mentioned that yet?” Jim states sweetly as he comes up behind his future mother-in-law and puts his arm around her shoulder.

“Now, don’t try and distract me, James.  I’ve got something for you too,” she says as she unfolds a baseball hat that said “Groom” on it and places it on his head.

“Folks, if this is everyone, I need you all to take your seats so we can leave,” the limo driver informs us as he pokes his head in the door of the bus.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue to leave,” Mrs. Gates says as she stands there, not making any attempt at moving.

She glances around at everyone expectantly, waiting for someone to beg her to stay and join us.

No one speaks.

Or moves.  There might have even been an uncomfortable cough that I think came from the driver.

“Okay….well…you kids have fun now!” she finally says as she walks to the door of the bus.  “Oh my goodness, I almost forgot the most important thing!”

She turns back around and rushes down the aisle towards Liz.  Everyone groans quietly.

Mrs. Gates stops in front of her daughter and reaches into the giant suitcase she calls a purse and pulls out a penis.  Or should I say, “penis products.”  Lots and lots of penis products, things I didn’t even know they made in the shape of a penis, and now I will have to bleach my eyes at the thought of Liz’s mom walking into a store and purchasing these items:

A candy necklace full of sugary penises, a penis-shaped water bottle, a penis-shaped pacifier that she decides needed to be tied around my neck.

Yes, I am absolutely going to stay classy this evening.

But she isn’t done yet, oh no.  Next out of her bag of tricks: penis-shaped pasta.  Seriously?  What the fuck do we need with a bag of penis-shaped pasta on a limo bus?  We’re not going to fill a pan with some water from the tiny bathroom at the back of the bus and stick it on the engine to boil it so we can make macaweenie and cheese.

She hands Jenny a box of penis gummies that Drew tells her to open up immediately because he wants to hear her say, “This penis tastes so good.”  Last but not least, she hands everyone different colored rubber penis pen caps.  Because you know, at some point during the night there might be an emergency that calls for someone to write a note using only a pen with a penis pen cap.

I should check the scavenger hunt.  It could be on the list.

Mrs. Gates looks like a perverted Mary Poppins pulling penises out of her carpet bag.  I'm waiting for her to pull out a penis-shaped lamp or a penis-shaped coat stand.  When she finally emptied her bag of all things phallic, she steps off of the bus and we all let out sighs of relief—and then we rip every single sash, hat, veil, and suck for a buck item off of us.

Drew pours everyone a shot of Tequila Rose (in penis shot glasses, of course) and passes them out.

“What is this pussy shit?”  Jim asks as he sniffs the thick, pink liquid in his shot glass.

“It smells like strawberry milk,” I say with a cringe.  I don’t know about anyone else, but milk and liquor just does not sound like it should go together.

“It tastes like strawberry milk too.  And it’s good shit.  I thought I’d start us off with something girly tonight so know one hurls in the first hour,” Drew explains.

We all nod in understanding.  No one wants to be the first one to puke.

The six of us sit at the back of the bus around the semi-circle leather couch.  We raise our shot glasses in the air until they all clink together in the middle.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Drew says.  “Here’s to you, here’s to me – fuck you, here’s to me!”

We all down the shots as the bus starts up and pulls away from the curb.

6.  Back Door Action

Oh.  My.  God.  What is that noise?  WHAT IS THAT NOISE??

It feels like someone is screaming in my ear with a bullhorn.  I let out a groan, roll over, and pull the covers up over my head in an effort to stop it from exploding.

Sweet Jesus what did I do last night?

“CLAIRE!  For fuck’s sake shut your alarm clock off!”

The yelling from Liz on the other side of my door makes me cringe.  I pull the covers down just far enough so I can squint at my alarm clock.

Sure enough, the sound that's threatening to make my ears bleed is coming from that little bastard on our dresser across the room.

The repetitive flash of the time, its bright red numbers, and the staccato beeping on that thing makes me think its judging me. I can hear it— tequila, shots, vodka, karaoke, you’re an idiot.