Yes, it says 'Delicious' across my chest.

I spent this last weekend in Philly for Kathleen's bachelorette party. While I absolutely loved going out and dancing with girls, there were some not-so-fun aspects of the evening.

First of all, have you ever seen 'Mean Girls'? You know that scene where they all stand in front of a mirror and criticize their bodies? Well, it happened. There was no mirror involved, but someone made a self-deprecating remark about their body that morphed into a full out bonding session on how imperfect we all are. I actually left the room because I was so upset. Why, WHY, do we think that we should bond over the fact that none of us are Heidi Klum? How is belittling ourselves in any way helpful? Every girl there was gorgeous in her own way. We turned heads when we went out and we all looked great. What is it about degrading ourselves that we find reassuring? Is it just so we know everyone has their own insecurities? I have, upon occasion, made some random complaint about my appearance. I'm sure we all have. But the encouraging of perfectly beautiful women to list and obsess about their faults makes me feel indescribably sad. I wanted to hug them all and let them know that being the blonde that every guy wants to grope at the club is not necessarily the best lot in life either.

Speaking of groping...


As you can see from the pic, we all had matching hot pink wife beaters that said 'Delicious' across the chest in silver script. The back said 'Yum'. The shirts were absolutely adorable, but I should've realized that wearing a tank top, black skirt, and boots meant that you can touch me. I'm not talking about grabbing my ass on the dance floor (not that I think that's all right, either, mind you...). I'm talking about the guy who came up to us, talked to my chest (which, being built the way I am, has NEVER happened to me before), and then proceeded to TRAIL HIS FINGER ACROSS MY BREASTS. I slapped his hand away and Kathleen's cousin flipped out, telling him I was her lesbian lover and that she would kick the shit out of him if he touched me again. He made some more remarks about how hot we were and then licked his lips and walked away.

Now, by this time I had been dancing for several hours. I probably had sweat pouring off my face. However, I have NEVER felt dirtier than when this random guy touched me. Would he have done it if I were wearing jeans? I'm guessing not.

The worst part is, I was completely prepared for something of the sort to happen. How sad is that? Knowing that wearing a skirt and boots makes guys think it's ok to touch you? Or was it the 'Delicious' that I so proudly wore on my chest? Either way, I'm glad that bachelorette parties are few and far between. I couldn't stomach that on a more regular basis.