Bikers & Bachelorettes

A constant rumbling anywhere you traveled throughout Myrtle Beach, South Carolina could only mean one thing. Motorcycle enthusiasts from around the world had converged on the Palmetto State for its annual Bike Week.

Actually, the event lasted two weeks, but who was counting? After only a couple days of crowds, congestion, and V-twin engines, this bachelorette was ready to hightail it back to Raleigh in a horse and buggy, if necessary, to escape the constant growl of 80,000 thousands Harleys. In fact, even as I sit here typing these words, I still hear a humming in my head--the same one I heard through the walls of my condominium during the wee hours of the morning as I attempted to sleep off a hangover.

Aside from the noise issues, however, I found the bikers to be a friendly and fashion-forward group. I saw more leather bustiers and chaps in one weekend than I have in an entire life, and was almost inspired to buy my own tanned-hide bra. Then I remembered I already owned one. It certainly was a packing faux pas to have not including it among my choices for weekend wears. Despite this oversight, however, my fellow bachelorettes made sure I stood out and was appropriately attired with a pink feather boa and shot glass necklace. At least, my girls avoided the penis paraphernalia. Small miracles never cease.

Speaking of the girls, we bachelorettes were six strong. We shopped; we drank. We flirted, danced, and sometimes used our feather boa on club floors for impromptu rounds of limbo with groups of penis-clad bachelorettes from around the country. Had I not known any better I would have sworn that Myrtle Beach also hosted a bachelorette event in conjunction with the bikers’ week. The numbers of brides-to-be were staggering.

Even though I was enjoying good times with a great group of girlfriends, I couldn’t help but wonder how my bachelor was fairing. Far from the carefree and revelrous life of a bachelorette, Max had joined a couple families in holding a large yard sale in an effort to pare down our two households into one. During a quiet moment as I browsed an assortment of “Smack That” thongs, I called him to know how the yard sale was going.

“I’ve sold just about everything,” Max boasted. And you’re never going to guess what I traded my old desk for...”

He didn’t give me a chance to guess, though I wouldn’t have supposed this swap in a million years.

“A bassinet and a car seat...” he continued.

“A what?!?!” I asked incredulously.

“A bassinet... It’s for a baby,” Max replied. “Both pieces are in excellent condition and I thought...”

“But I’m not even pregnant yet.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, which was both sweet and scary at the same time.

“I know, Diane. But we agreed to start trying right away and it seemed like a good deal.”

Max was so excited, and I wasn’t about to burst his bubble. What else could I say other than I'd check out his finds when I returned home on Sunday?