I’ve been invited to a lot of bachelorette parties lately.
Speaking of which, did you know that WordPress automatically corrects “bachelorette” to “bachelor”? Yeah, that’s right. WORDPRESS IS FUCKING SEXIST. Is this a simple error, or is WordPress reinforcing our culture’s longstanding assertion that an unmarried woman might as well be invisible, hmmmm?!?!
So I’ve been invited to a lot of bachelorette parties lately.
Where was I going with this before WordPress tried to crush me under its anti-feminine thumb?
Oh, right. So I’ve been invited to a lot of bachelorette parties lately, and naturally this makes me think of the most emotionally scarring bachelorette party I’ve ever attended.
Because it’s a common thing to be emotionally destroyed by a bachelorette party.
So I RSVP’ed yes to this one party. It was a little champagne and present time followed by three hours on a booze trolley that didn’t even have seatbelts. How could that be anything but awesome? (Maybe we should ask the girl who ended up having her jaw wired shut.) ANYWAY, a girlfriend and I decide we’re going and then decide we’re making inappropriate cookies.
Because nothing says “You’ll be married soon” like a tray full of pastry genitals! Right? RIGHT?!
It’s the thing you’re supposed to do, so we take the task upon ourselves, get together, craft some dick and boob cookies from horrifically exaggerated stencils of our twisted minds’ own design, dye icing in various flesh tones, and decorate whilst cackling excessively. Then we pack them up alongside our equally inappropriate sex toy gifts and head out the door.
What I did not know was that the bride’s mother had been invited.
But wait, what’s that? There’s more surprise coming my way? Oh, the groom’s mother is invited, too? Oh okay, that’s no big deal I mean, it’s not like the groom is The Boy’s brother and therefore the groom’s mother is also The Boy’s mother and OH MY GOD I’M SERVING THE BOY’S VERY CATHOLIC MOTHER A FROSTED PENIS NO BIG DEAL I’M JUST GOING TO GO OVER HERE AND HAVE A HEART ATTACK WAKE ME WHEN I’M DEAD.
After a frantic call to The Boy in which I uttered such classic phrases as “Should I throw out the cocks?” and “I can’t make your mother eat dick!”, I decided to grin and bear it. I mean, I’d worked hard on these cocks. I couldn’t exactly waste all that effort, right? And The Boy had been remarkably calm and laissez-faire about it all. Yeah, I told myself. It’ll be fine, my soothing inner voice cooed. They have to find out who you are sometime! my practical mental coach shrugged. Okay. I was going to do this.
So they’re all having a very sophisticated and un-raunchy bachelorette party and sipping champagne and eating impossibly tiny food. And then I walk in with a box full of dicks.
I’d like to say we all laughed and everyone patted us on the back and told us it was the best dick they’d ever eaten, but I don’t wanna get cocky. (AHAHAHHAA GET IT GET IT COCKY oh you got it, okay). In reality, it was more like we promptly squirreled the cookies to an out-of-the-way location where they were dispensed to the appropriate (inappropriate?) individuals. One crisis sort of averted, but what of that goody bag full of hilarious sex toys?
What goody bag full of hilarious sex toys?
Oh, you know, the edible panties and the blue vibrator that came in a package that looked just like a Butterfinger wrapper except instead of saying “Butterfinger” it said “Betterthanafinger”?
Oh, right. That goody bag.
Well, it wasn’t all that dramatic, really. Except the room was full of exceptionally well-behaved women paying close attention to every gift, and when a hush fell over the room as bachelorette was handed a gift bag and oh, whose gift is this we’re about to open, oh, look, I think this is Genny’s and let’s just put our hand in the bag and see what she’s gotten for m–
Yeah, that’s right. I screamed, “NOOOOO!” and “STOOOOP!” and probably some variation of “AAARRRGGHHH LOOOK AWAAAAAAY!” or “GARGOOOOOOOYLES!” and maybe some other stuff that I don’t quite remember seeing as how the stress of the moment has created a black spot in my memory.
Bachelorette briefly turned pale, the present was hurriedly put away, and my apocalyptic visions involving hellfire and The Boy’s mother and more hellfire and a whole lotta cock…were averted and nothing came of it and we all lived happily ever after.
Until the next day, when the bride’s mother came right up to me and told me. how very much. she loved. my cookies.
So anyway, go make my mustard and put it on some ham.
Homemade Beer Mustard
Makes about 1 1/2 cups
1/4 cup plus 3 Tablespoons beer (or champagne), divided
1 1/2 Tablespoons brown mustard seeds
5 Tablespoons yellow mustard seeds
1/3 cup white wine vinegar
1 Tablespoon honey or agave
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 clove garlic, minced
1/3 cup onion, finely chopped
Mix 1/4 cup beer/champagne with the vinegar, brown and yellow mustard seeds, salt, and honey. Let it sit for 45 minutes.
Meanwhile, place 3 Tablespoons beer/champagne into a skillet with the salt, garlic, and onion.
Bring to a simmer over low heat and cook, stirring occasionally, until onion is translucent. Set aside until it’s cooled completely.
When onion mixture has cooled and mustard seeds have been steeping for at least 45 minutes, put both mixtures into a blender.
Pulse until you have your preferred consistency.
Transfer to a glass jar and let it age for at least a few days before using.
© 2012, Genevieve P. Charet. All rights reserved.Pin It