King for a Day

This weekend I was pleased as punch to become a social experiment for every boy in the world when I was asked to be a part of my best friend's bachelorette party. I weighed my options for a couple of seconds before making my decision because it's been years since I've even stepped foot out of Memphis and I wasn't about to turn down an opportunity to drink somewhere new. And we didn't just go SOMEWHERE we went all out. I packed my day bag (the only bag I own, mind you) and before I knew it, me and a gaggle of ready-to-party ladies hit the road for HOT SPRINGS, ARKANSAS! Don't be j.

In narrowing down what I wanted this post to focus on I had many choices. If I summarized the entire trip you'd get bored and I'd cry. If I talked more about the "social experiment" quality of it I might offend good friends and I'd cry. So I've decided to go straight for the thing I was dreading about the entire trip. The spa package.

**If you didn't giggle when you read the word "Package", please close your browser because we are not friends or on the same planet together.**

Hot Springs is cute. You don't even realize you're in Arkansas if you can wipe your memory clean of the bumpy roads and cornfields and cheap-knife-selling gas stations you encountered along the way. And if you can forgive the "bartenders" everywhere for only knowing how to pour straight liquor and for calling your entire group "ladies" in every restaurant you went to even though I obviously have a beard and a penis (trust me, I made sure it was noticeable)...every time we left a restaurant I could hear them whisper "there's always an ugly one". Sorry, tangent. So yeah, Hot Springs is cute. We had 2 cool rooms connected to each other and were signed up for a pretty rad "Spa" day on our second day.

Before we left on the trip, I made it very clear I was having nothing to do with Spa Day. I was going to find a bar and make friends with no one and be perfectly happy until the girls came back. They laughed and seemed to hold on to the fact that they were going to FORCE me to disrobe and be touched inappropriately by people I did not know. I guess they forgot how stubborn I am. So Spa Day arrives and at breakfast we get a call.

Lady: "Eric, would you like a male or female masseuse?"
Me: "No thank you"
Lady: "..."

By this time I was highly hungover from our first night in HOG COUNTRY, sore, grumpy, and needing some time to not be around 6 women in full "BACHELORETTE PARTY" mode. Contrary to popular belief, gay men are not women. I needed to watch a sport or crop dust a bunch of old ladies having tea. SOMETHING! Instead, I put on a trucker hat, opened a beer, and turned on some JERRY SPRINGER all the while insisting I was NOT being dragged to what they lovingly called the "Bath House" which upon inspection looked like the place where all the girls were going to be murdered by the hotel killer and leave me as the last man standing. I was sure this was some sort of horror movie waiting to happen.

I did not go. I took a long shower. I watched cable on the crappy television. I thought about going shopping then realized I had to be stubborn about that too because I'm trying to fight a stereo-type here people! My job is hard.

When the girls returned they all had the same look on their face. Like their legs were melting and they were having problems standing up. All collapsed on the bed at the same time. I assumed this meant all went well and nobody got murdered by Helga the Killer Masseuse. So we continued the party.

As the day went on though, bruises started popping up, complaints about sore legs and shoulders were shouted, dead skin flakes found in drinks...all that jazz. All the while, I sat back in my bar stool grinning. Grinning like a fucking winner. I did not have headaches, I did not have any bruises, and I most certainly was not molested by any strangers that day!

I am not a martyr, no. And it may all boil down to my uncontrollable anxiety that wouldn't let me enjoy a nice day at the spa and then write about how it was probably horrible for everyone and that watching TV was a much better way to waste the money I had already spent on the spa day. But in my head, I am king. King of the bachelorette party! Dad would be proud.