Rachel
Rose threatened dismemberment if I didn’t agree to a bachelorette party, but I insisted on an at-home affair the night before my wedding.
“You’ll have to break out the ax before I do a bar crawl in a tiara and feathered boa,” I’d said.
So, Rose, our sister Michaela, and three of our close friends kicked off the night with dirty Pictionary and Jell-O shots. Katie, my best friend from college, passed out p***s-shaped chocolate truffles, which we consumed with potent cosmopolitans that Michaela had mixed at home and brought in a giant plastic Kool-Aid pitcher.
Rose dumped a pile of elaborately wrapped packages in my lap, which we all found hilarious.
The first gift, from our neighbor Sara, was the classic gift of edible panties packed on a bed of condoms. “Has anyone ever tried th
