The Bachelorette Party

By the end of the night, my feet were sore and my neck was stained pink. I’d danced with a 70+-year-old man, felt some guy’s biceps, consumed (some) alcohol and had a fabulous time.

It was an amazing bachelorette party.

Insert Ginny Skalski, maid of honor extraordinaire, who planned our trip to Miami. She and I were joined by bridesmaids Laura (my sister) and Diana, plus our awesome friend Lauren, who lives in south Florida. Ginny had planned the trip without any help or much direction from me. I went into the weekend unsure of whether the agenda contained midget strippers or a quiet evening (or both).

Friday turned out to be the former. I got my first surprise at the airport, as we were walking out to what I thought was a shuttle service. We headed in a roundabout way through the airport to a parking garage, where a few town cars and vans were parked. I followed our driver, thinking any minute now we’d veer off to one of the vehicles. Instead, we headed toward a limo.

“Nah, they didn’t really,” I thought.

But soon, that was the only car left in our field of vision. I laughed. “You didn’t, did you?” I said. Sure enough, a long limo, black and silver and shaped like a bullet. I had never been in a limo before. Getting in and out takes a bit of grace. I looked and felt rather scruffy in my traveling jeans and T-shirt, but we cranked up the tunes and cruised down the road.

We got the hookup for our swanky hotel, Eden Roc, from one of Leo’s cousins. (Thanks!) Surprise No. 2 soon followed. My sister dragged me off to the bar under the pretense of some sister time and a shot of Patron. But when I arrived in the room, the girls were decorating with pink streamers and a banner!

We made a mad dash to change and touch-up our makeup before heading to dinner (in a taxi) at Bongos, a Cuban place in downtown Miami owned by Gloria Estefan. We stuffed ourselves with steak, rice, maduros and mojitos before returning to the hotel for a few more drinks in our room.

Saturday we spent the day on the beach at our hotel. The Eden Roc has three pools, which we visited when we were sick of the sand. You can see one of the pools in this picture.

After a quick power nap, we began to get ready for the Big Event. After all,  five girls in a hotel room is going to take awhile. By 8 p.m. we were ready, each dressed in black with heels almost high enough for Miami standards.

Ginny then grabbed her bachelorette party bag and proceeded to cover me in a stack of pink beads. Each girl was issued the same stack, with instructions to dole them out to boys if we so decided. We were also given plastic diamond rings lit up inside with LEDs. I was also issued a shot glass with another LED light that changed colors. And of course, the main touch: a headband veil with “Bride” in pink letters at the top, handcrafted by Ginny!

I think I looked pretty good.

The paper you see in my hand is our scavenger hunt game. The amazing Ginny had a list of things a “brave bacehelorette” is supposed to do. I won’t repeat them all here, but I promise none were so risque that I wouldn’t do them in front of Leo.

We were joined at the hotel by Hailey, one of Leo’s cousins, and the six of us headed out to see what damage we could impart on Miami.

I think more damage was done on our feet as we hiked around in heels. And on our necks, as we discovered at 3 a.m. that the beads had left behind some ink.

But we had a fantastic time, first eating at “Dolores but you can call me Lolita” and then visiting a few bars. The whole night people kept walking by me and saying either, “Congratulations” or “Don’t do it.” One set of two women with their husbands bought me a shot and came over to wish me luck.

One of my missions was to get guys to write their marriage advice on a napkin or business card. I ended up with three. The final one was the best: “Make love to a Cuban before you die.”

Little did he know that I am marrying a Cuban.

I received that one at our final stop for the night, a serendipitous stumble into a swing dance club after our desired destination turned out to be a dud.

There, a 70+-year-old man did his best to show me some swing moves. My aching feet struggled with the steps, but I sort of found the beat after several tries.

Sweaty, laughing and just the right amount of tipsy, we called it a night and headed back to our hotel.

It was the perfect bacehelorette party, and I am so grateful to have amazing and supportive friends who joined me to say farewell to single life and hello to my future happiness with my husband.