Bachelorette Hell

One of D’s coworkers is getting married next weekend. Last weekend we talked about taking her out for a bachelorette party. The plan, as we left it, was to go to a gay gentlemen’s club, which is reportedly a fairly classy place (or as classy as you can get with naked men in Southeast D.C.). So fine. I was actually looking forward to it. D is always telling me that I don’t “make enough of an effort” to make friends here. I thought it was a good chance to do a little PR.

So I get an email this morning that the bride no longer wants to go to the gentleman’s club. She wants to go dancing. Sweet hell. I HATE dance clubs. I would rather pry my fingernails off with a screwdriver than go to a dance club in DC. They are hot and sweaty and play shitty, shitty music.* I feel old and ugly and I’m always wearing too much clothing and not enough make-up. I’m just really, really uncomfortable the whole time.

*This is another disagreement between D and I. He thinks that I would like the music if I ever listened to it. I think that if I liked club music then I would make a point of listening to it. Which makes more sense? Hating the music because I’m not familiar with it, or not being familiar with it because I hate it?

But I will go, I will take one for the team.