blush and bashful

My niece Meg is getting married in three weeks. She's a year younger than I and her sister, Anna, is a year older. Yes, I have a niece that's a year older than me and no my brother's sister's uncle's cousin did not sleep with my sister's aunt's nephew.

As the matron of honor and maid of honor, the planning of a bachelorette party has fallen to Anna and I.

Unfortunately, due to location and proximity to the wedding date itself – our options are slightly limited. They live in the middle of nowhere. There are approximately three bars in their small town and one of them will be closed that night for some town relay race or something.

I called Anna last night to discuss. It seems Meg already has her own ideas though. Her fiancé will be going with his groomsmen to the only strip club within a fifty-mile radius. And after the exchange of lingerie and lots of shots… she'd like to join him there.

Now normally, I wouldn't have a problem with this at all. But there's a history that comes with the three of us and strip clubs, going back about six years.

I was a freshman in college, Meg had just turned 18 and they both came up for a long weekend. I'm not sure how birthday fun turned into joining a group of ten guys at Platinum Plus, but it did. The how and why seems to slip my mind now. But the what… well that part's easy to recall.

We were there to celebrate, and because three is always better than just one or two, celebrating turned into a drunk, easily persuadable Meg. Platinum Plus was having an amateur night. Top prize: $500.

After a little coaxing and fitting her into a brand new purple G-string, we put Meg up on stage. Her cheering section roped almost the entire runway and Anna and I cashed in a handful of twenties for two-dollar bills. We were ready and she was willing.

Lights came down and Meg came out.

Now, I've never been naked in front of a large group of people before and I don't ever hope to be. Those hospital shows where a patient gets rushed to the ER and their injuries are so bad their clothes have to be cut off in front of fifteen or so doctors and nurses? Yeah, that terrifies me. There's a time and a place for naked… skinny-dipping, horizontal monkey dancing, bubble baths, and a select few other instances… on stage is not one of them. At least not for me. Unless there’s an ummm… private audience so to speak.

I have to give the girl credit. She strutted her stuff. Strutted it well. We walked away with second place and $350. No worse for the wear. And every once in a while we all get a good laugh and break into “Just ‘cause she dances go-go, it don’t maker her a ho no… called up my mama said I’m in love with this strippah yo…”

Family is family after all.

But when I found out Meg wanted to go back, I got a mini version of deja vu that's left me a bit puzzled. Aren’t bachelorette parties supposed to be filled with penis shaped cakes and cheap veils and a white t-shirt that says BRIDE across it? Isn’t the point to get guys to buy you shots? To get away from your fiancé for the night? To spend time with the girls? More than that, aren’t you supposed to let other people plan it for you, rather than demand what you want?

I’m at a loss. It matters not to me where we are, but I had hoped to at least get to plan something. Call me old fashioned… but it wasn’t going to be at a strip club. At least not one where women take off their clothes.

What’s a girl to do? After all, it is her wedding.