Luckily, no party-ending drama ensued and a good time was had by all. But there was still violence.
I intended to avoid the typical level of inebriation one would expect from a bridal party on bacheloette weekend, so I could anticipate and difuse the potential stressors of a night out with a gaggle of girls drinking too much champagne. However, in the famous words of my friend Nikki, I became "the drama we were trying to avoid." Here's what happened.
After our early dinner, we headed out to the first club on the busy, bustling streets of Chicago. While walking ahead of some of the group, I hear Nikki call out to me to watch out. At that moment, I felt it. A substantial and invasive ass-grab. The kind of that feels intimate. At that moment, I turn to find a man in his mid-thirties by my guess, in a hoodie, passing me and our large group on the left by the street. And I knew it was him.
Without a word, I sped up and started smacking him in the back with my clutch, filled with only my lip gloss, ID, and credit card. Not enough heft to do harm. Nikki comes running up and kicks him with her blinged-out high-heeled shoe. I yell that he can't do that to people and tossed in some expletives for good measure. He turns as he continues to flee, and shrugs his shoulders as if he has no idea why were are accosting him on the street.
Our friends don't know what Nikki and I know, and just suddenly realize we are attacking a stranger.
Ultimately he walked on and we explained to the group what took place. I still regret that I didn't do more, and left that man unpunished to gain unsolicited access to women's private areas.
Feeling a bit objectified, we continued on our night out. We laughed and danced and made our bride dance on stage at a piano bar. Eventually, we end up at a club that had an elevated area for girls to dance. Two skinny friends, the bride and Nikki, who was also accosted by the hooded man, were dancing on the raised area, and asked me to join. Emphatically. Eventually, I relented, though lacking the level of inebriation generally required for such an activity.
As soon as I was up there, a bouncer came over and asked me to get down. My friends insist the area was too full and that was the motivation. But as a girl who has put on a few, I internalized the requst as a personal affront. I'm not little like them and was undoubtedly visually less appealing to be at eye-level. They insist it was a capacity issue. I came down, dejected, and already a little bothered about the earlier events. At which time I got upset. And then, the words that will live in infamy from Nikki: "you are becoming the drama we were trying to avoid." I laughed and realized she was right.
I got my act together, but will insist to the end that me, in my borrowed dress without a size 2 figure, was not in line with the club's "brand."
Thankfully my friends have a late-night appetite like me, and we ended up leaving to go to the hotel to eat pizza at 2 a.m. Take that, swanky Chicago club.
Know what drama I really want to avoid? Finding food late at night. Thankfully, pizza delivery exists, and drama was (mostly) averted.