Slumber Party Exploits

What does it mean to be lucky? I’ll bet a big part of it is not hearing “Let’s just be friends” from every woman on the planet. But still, I sort of lucked out a couple weeks ago. I managed to wriggle and sneak my way into a woman stronghold, a gathering to end all gatherings, an event which has plagued the minds and fantasies of men since the dawn of time.

Yes, gentlemen, I was invited to an All-Girl Slumber Party.

I’ll repeat that, because I think some of you are missing the point. I, [NAME REMOVED], who for the past 22 years and some odd months has been a man, was invited to an All-Girl Slumber Party.

The gods are toying with me.

I ignored the obvious implications (the girl who invited me doesn’t consider me a man and, in fact, thinks of me as more of a girl) and instead focused on the positive aspects. Every guy has thought of what happens at a girl’s slumber party. Some of us have crashed the slumber parties of our sisters with water balloons and shaving cream. But this goes beyond that, my friends. This slumber party is post-puberty.

Oh, the possibilities…

I’d be an even worse journalist than I already am if I didn’t accurately record the event for reporting, so despite the amount of alcohol flowing throughout my bloodstream, I kept a critical eye open, watching every move of the girls. I felt like Jane Goodall must have felt when she lived with the monkeys, except Jane is a woman, and the girls are not monkeys, and I am not a scientist.

OK, bad example. Anyway, I paid close attention and noted the effects a slumber party had on women. I took notes, I conducted experiments, I took pictures… so anyway, what follows is a journal of my thoughts throughout the evening. You can very easily track my progress throughout the night as I move from “sober and excited” to “not sober and excited.” The times are approximate.

5:23 pm. – Having doubts about the party. Wondering if it will be fun, second-guessing my masculinity for being invited in the first place. I make the hasty decision that arriving to the party already drunk will make things more fun.

6:13 pm. – My ride appears. We go to a McDonald’s to eat. I overestimate my appetite. She accuses me of “making a scene.” I’m asking questions about slumber parties, so I can behave properly. She looked confused when I asked about the oil wrestling.

7:12 pm. – We find the apartment and park 17 miles away. I’m colder than I’ve ever been in my life. Thoughts of pillow fights and games of Truth or Dare keep me warm.

8:34 pm. – Our hostess’s sisters arrive for the party, with our hostess’s puppy. Hostess demonstrates her love for her puppy by getting on all fours and hopping around the apartment, playing with the dog and making high-pitched yelping sounds. For fifteen minutes. I pretend it’s not happening and drink some of the beer I brought.

9:07 pm. – I get introduced to the girls who show up. The phone rings, and the hostess answers and then, quite distinctly, says, “Sorry, you can’t come. No guys allowed.” She then looks at me and laughs. I don’t think it’s very funny.

10:22 pm. – All the girls are here. They discuss the varying reasons why men suck. Not one of them seems to notice that I’m a man. Someone wants rum and cokes, so I make a few. I’ve moved from “tipsy” to “tipping over.”

11:45 pm. – Someone brought a card game called “Scruples.” I become irrationally angry when I lose and accuse everyone of cheating. I ask the hostess when the pillow fight starts so I can get a good seat. She responds by taking away my camera.

1:03 am. – The girls all take turns doing each other’s hair. I am not allowed to participate because I’m going bald. It is at this time that I realize there will be no pillow fights. I feel used and betrayed.

1:48 am. – Have the inexplicable urge to watch the Lifetime channel. I want to call all my guy friends and tell them they’re lying pigs. The assimilation has begun.

2:36 am. – We try to play an electronic trivia game. I dominate. The victory is bittersweet when I notice that everyone else stopped playing the game almost immediately. Have an urge for “mixed drinks.” This makes me scared.

2:53 am. – My manhood shrieks in agony as thoughts of meaningful relationships and feelings flow through my brain. I think to myself, “I will make a great mother someday.” This thought doesn’t strike me as odd.

3:12 am. – Possession of a penis is now a distant memory. Testosterone being sublimated by a raging tidal wave of estrogen. I want to talk and cry and share my feelings. Group hug is initiated, and I have no impure thoughts.

3:46 am. – A supreme battle of wills begins as I fight to once again recognize my penis. Memories are pulled up from my subconscious. Sweet, sweet liquor makes the pain go away.

5:02 am. – Victory is mine! I am once again champion of my loins. This is demonstrated by me walking my platonic friend to her bed so she can get some sleep. A chorus of “awwwww’s” makes me shudder.

5:40 am. – Sleep takes me and makes me its bitch.

7:02 am. – I conquer sleep and wake up my ride so she can drive me home before she goes to work. I collect my things and take one final look around the room, respecting the power that is the All-Girl Slumber Party. I resolve to buy a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition as soon as possible.

7:05 am. – I remind myself that I won’t be buying these magazines for the articles.

There you have it. A completely skewed and flawed accounting of an all-girl slumber party. It was a very interesting time, and I think I’ve gotten over the fact that the hostess invited me because she doesn’t see me as a full-fledged man.

Now I’m off to go buy drapes.