Before you judge me, you did not see Greg. And I wasn’t the only one. Plus it doesn’t count if it happens at a bachelorette party, right?
This weekend was filled with lots of shenanigans, beach time, dancing, and toasts to the bride-to-be, my cousin Alexandra. At one point, she was telling a bartender that she remembers holding me after I was born, and 22 years later I’m buying her a drink. He must have thought it endearing because he paid for our shots.
The first night we danced on stages (and tables) in our party shirts, the second night we had sake bombs in our classier uniforms, and during the day we snoozed on the sand. It was a pretty fantastic weekend, and it makes me want to invest in a CZ ring and a hot pink sash so I can have “bachelorette” parties of my own. Any excuse to
lick grope gawk at the Gregs of the world…