i'm not sure how the transition from 'young and single' or 'single-into-the-third-decade-and-now-i've-forgotten-how-to-share-the-duvet-or-my-cute-stain-free-towels-from-tj-maxx', to legalized cohabitation is best done by decking oneself out in a condom covered t-shirt, flashing your bits while getting out of a stretched white hummer, just so you can down cough syrup shots at nineteen different bars. i've seen the divorce statistics in US weekly magazine.
limits were thus set on a bridal shower/bachelorette "thing" that had to be completely devoid of twinsets, quiche, mike's hard lemonade or plastic penis paraphernalia. so we put on sensible shoes, covered ourselves in bug repellant and hiked up a mountain.
and then hiked back down under the influence. fortunately the only wildlife that we had to contend with were colourful bears, highly concentrated in corn syrup, and several bottles of fresh water, organic champagne basking in the rock pools.
finally, there is nothing like the relief of seeing a giant turd in the middle of the trail (for the second time), after riding around lost in the woods for three hours (last weekend's foray into the wilderness). there is also nothing like returning from champagne on the mount, to a patio full of men that have been working the grill.