Of course, today of all days my phone’s battery is dead and I've left the f**king thing at home.

Liz pulls her iPhone out of her purse and slaps it into my open palm. I yanked it to me faster than a fat kid with a piece of cake and quickly click on the Facebook icon and log into my account.

“Holy f**king shit,” I whisper as the little globe symbol at the top of the screen tells me I have sixty-five new notifications.

Liz moves over next to me and glances over my shoulder.

“Oh don’t worry. Most of those were you replying to your own posts using my account. You were really cracking yourself up last night.”

This is doing nothing to make me feel better. I go to Katie’s page and clicked on one of the two photo albums she had in there. I quickly scan through the pictures and don’t find any offending comments. Maybe I had deleted them.

Right, and maybe fairies will start shitting money on my front lawn.

“Wrong photo album,” Drew states as he also comes around behind me so he can peer over my other shoulder. “The photo album you want is the one titled, 'Missionary Trip to Jerusalem.' And yes, I totally just said ‘missionary’ without laughing.”

I am going straight to hell.

At this point, Carter moves his head to the side, right next to mine, so he too can look down at the phone.

I click on the correct album and sure enough, under every single photo from her trip to Jerusalem with people from her CHURCH GROUP, I have posted the words, “Spitters are quitters.”

“Oooh, oooh, wait! This is my favorite part!” Drew says excitedly as he snatches the phone out of my hand and navigates to the last picture in the album.

He finds what he was looking for and barks out a laugh before handing the phone back to me. I grab it out of his hand roughly and shoot him a dirty look for his excitement at my epic fail.

Not only does it say “Spitters are quitters” under the last photo in the album, but below that stellar use of the English language I have written, “Jesus is my homeboy.”

“Your cousin is never going to forgive me,” I said with a sigh.

“Eh, she’s a bitch anyway. Someone needed to put her in her place.” Carter laughs as he tightens his hold on me.

I reach my arm out to hand the phone back to Liz and notice a funny look on her face.

“What?” I ask with trepidation, my arm just hanging there since she hadn’t reached out to take the phone from me.

“Oh fuck, there’s more?” I question her as my shoulders drooped.

“You might want to take a gander at the conversation we had on Carter’s mom’s page,” she says, not even bothering to contain the laughter at this point.

I’m sure my eyes are the size of dinner plates as I just stand there staring at her.

“Oh my God! I forgot about that! I read it again this morning and almost pissed myself!” Drew chuckles. "Not on any furniture," he says to me in total seriousness.

I regretfully bring the phone back to me and pull Madelyn Ellis’ Facebook page up.

At exactly 12:28 a.m. I had posted the following on Madelyn’s page:

“You are a gigantic, stinkotic, vaginastic, clitoral, liptistic whore dizzle.”

Three minutes later Liz responds with: “Dude, was this meant for me? You just posted this on Carter’s mom’s page. Ha! You dumb ass!”

I stare at the rest of the conversation, ON CARTER’S MOM’S PAGE, and I want to vomit. His MOM’S page, people! I don’t think you understand the level of suck we’re at right now.

Claire Morgan: You are a furry nut sack on the giant dick of my life.

Elizabeth Gates: You are the taco to my furry heart.

Claire Morgan: Where is your Dumbo-earred vagina? I can hear it flapping from here. Are you trying to fly back to me?

Elizabeth Gates: My va**na is way nicer than anything you own you drizzly, weighted down orca of a woman.

Claire Morgan: Your va**na is like a burning clown car…this flaming taco with hundreds of screaming people trying get the f**k out of it.

Elizabeth Gates: Dumb shit whore.

Claire Morgan: Dick weed.

By the time I got to the bottom of the thread, Carter has stepped away from me and is practically convulsing with laughter.

Carter’s parents choose that moment to walk Gavin back over to us, and I am praying to God, Allah, Buddha, and Ryan Seacrest that she had not logged into her Facebook account yet today so I can get in there and delete everything.

Drew and Jim are now huddled together behind me quoting those posts back and forth to each other in loud whispers and laughing like hyenas.

“Claire, you have raised quite the charming young man,” Madelyn says with a kind smile. “Gavin is just so precious, and Carter’s father and I just want to thank you for taking such good care of our grandson”

Fuck, why does she have to be so nice? She's like a sweet, Disney princess and I'm Girls Gone Wild on crack.

“Right, Charles?”

When he doesn’t answer her immediately, she elbows him in the side and he jerks his head back around, no doubt from checking out the waitress.

“Oh, yes. Absolutely, Candy. Wonderful job.”

Now it’s Candy? Do I look like a f**king stripper?

“Thank you, that means a lot to me,” I tell her, pasting on a smile.

“You’re looking a little tired today, Claire. Did my son keep you out late last night?” she asks.

Carter tries to cover up a snort from behind me, and my elbow meets his stomach, much in the same way his mother’s just had with his father.

I’m pretty sure his mom doesn’t want me to tell her my late night involved sex in public, back door begging, sperm demanding, wine drinking debauchery. Although with my luck, those things could be somewhere on Facebook and she’ll find out soon enough.

Someone calls Madelyn’s name and while she looks away, I pull Liz’s phone out from behind my back and furiously pull Facebook back up so I can begin the deletion process. Before I can even get to Madelyn’s page, the phone is seized from me.

“Ah-ah-ah! This is a no cell phone zone! And we have a surprise for both of you,” Madelyn exclaims with a huge smile as she drops Liz’s phone in the front pocket of her dress pants and I try not to whimper. “I’ll be right back with your surprise.”

She quickly turns and walks away from us, her heels clicking on the wood floor as she exits the party room.

“She’s probably going to get her gun. At least she’s giving you a head start,” my dad whispers.

Carter’s father stays with our group and attempts to start up a conversation with my dad while I try to figure out a way to sneak my hand into Madelyn’s pants pocket when she comes back without her thinking I'm trying to get to second base.

My dad looks blankly at Charles while he yammers on and on about the stock market and their last vacation to France. The first time he had smacked my dad on the arm trying to be all buddy-buddy with him, I feared for Charles’, life. My dad looks down at the spot where Charles’ hand connected and then back up at him before walking away without another word. Charles doesn’t seem phased by it since Liz bends over the table to set her purse down right then and he has something else to occupy his mind.

Drew and Jim are in a deep discussion about having another bachelor party, this time with strippers, when Liz suddenly latches tightly onto my arm and jerks me towards her.

“Oh my God! Who is that?” she whispers in horror as Carter and I turn to see who she is pointing at.

“That’s my grandmother,” Carter replied with a huge smile as we watch his mom escort an older version of herself into the room. “This must be our surprise. I had no idea she was going to be in town.”

At that moment, Drew turns around and spits out the mouthful of water he was drinking. Something about the woman is a little familiar, but I have never met Carter’s grandmother. He talks about her all the time and I know that Carter’s mother does whatever she asks. Thank God she doesn’t do Facebook, at least I don’t have that to worry about. She’d tell Madelyn to put a hit out on me.

By now, Drew is bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees choking on the water he managed to swallow, and I'm wondering what the f**k his problem is. Jenny smacks him on the back and is making weird head gestures at me and Carter’s grandmother like she has some sort of neck tick.

What the hell is going on with everyone?

I'm clearly looking at her with annoyance and put my hands up in the air in a “what the fuck?” gesture. She opens her mouth but before she can say anything, Liz grabs onto my arm with both hands now and is trying to drag me away from everyone. She’s alternating between giggles and repeatedly whispering, “Oh sweet Jesus.” I'm starting to wonder if everyone around me has been roofied.

I yank my arm out of her clutches and turn around, coming face-to-face with Carter’s grandmother. I put a big smile on my face and began to introduce myself when she cuts me off.

“You,” is all she says as she looks me up and down.

The look in her eyes and the tilt of her head as she scrutinizes me suddenly forces a memory from last night to surface from the depths of my subconscious.

“She’s going to take our cab. Are you kidding me with this shit?” Drew yells indignantly. “I’ve been standing here trying to hail a cab for like three years and this skank just waltzes in and takes the one that stopped for us.”

“Dude, we came in a limo bus. It’s parked over there,” Jim tells him.

“I don’t care if we came here on a magic carpet. That was OUR cab!” I pipe up indignantly.

I stumble over to the back door of the taxi that is still open while the old woman gets situated and stick my head in.

“You’re a dick. Go f**k your face,” I yell drunkenly before I’m yanked back out by my friends so my head doesn’t get mangled by the shutting of the door.

“Dude, you just say that to a seventy-year-old woman!” Emmett yells while patting me on the back.

And here that seventy-year-old woman stands with a cocky smile on her face when she sees that I have made the connection to who she is.

The entire room is silent as they watch the exchange between us. I look horrified and Carter’s grandmother looks like she's going to throw her little arthritic fists of fury in the air and beat my ass.

There will never ever be another moment in my entire life that is more embarrassing than this one right here. Mark my words.

Madelyn interrupts the stare-down Grandma is giving me, and I suddenly wish there was a hole in the floor that would swallow me up when I see Liz’s cell phone in her hand.

“What does ‘gigantic, stinkotic, vaginastic, clitoral, liptistic whore dizzle’ mean?”

8. The Incredible Shrinking Penis

“No, Drew, a trip to the strip club will not make everything better,” I say for the third time. “Claire is completely mortified after brunch last weekend and thinks my family hates her. She’s also pissed at me because according to her, my number one rule as her boyfriend is to stop her from doing anything remotely stupid while she’s drunk.”

I let out a huge sigh and lift my arms in a “T” so the store owner could measure the length of my chest. While the girls are over with Liz getting a last minute fitting for their dresses, I meet the guys across the street at the mall with Gavin so we can get measured for our tuxes. This might come as a shock, but I’ve never been measured for a tux or a suit before. When I tell you this is the most awkward moment you will ever have with another person, I’m not lying. It’s right up there with prostate exams.

Some strange man named Steve who barely mutters a greeting when we walk in, immediately pushes me in front of a set of mirrors and then gets down on his knees and sticks his hands in the general vicinity of my balls.

Where exactly are you supposed to look when there is a man between your legs cupping your nut sack and he isn’t a doctor asking you to bend over and cough? His head? Deep into his eyes when he glances up at you to yell at you for squirming? I’m sorry but I can’t stand still when there is all this unwelcome ball-handling going on.

I really don’t see why it’s necessary to take four measurements that go from where my balls hang to my ankles. My balls haven’t moved; you’re going to get the same number each time so just write the f**king number down and move on - preferably to a spot away from my nuggets.

Is a store owner even qualified to do this shit? Doesn’t he need some type of degree or something before he can just go off wielding a measuring tape and sticking pins in people?

I glance over at Drew and he is looking up at the ceiling and whistling like it's no big deal, like he always has strange people with their hands all over him while they are eye-level with his junk. Wait, look who I’m talking about! It probably had just happened to him at the gas station a half hour before we got here.

“Claire needs to chill. If your parents don’t hate me by now, they don’t hate her. I’ve done much worse things to them over the years, believe me,” Drew says.

“Yeah. I know. My mom still brings up what you did to her parakeet back in high school.”

Drew rolls his eyes.

“That wasn’t even my fault.”

“Uh, you opened the cage and it flew straight into the glass door and died,” I remind him.

“Is it my fault that thing was stupid?” he argues. “I thought it would just fly around the room, maybe shit on the carpet. How was I supposed to know it was suicidal? It’s your mom’s fault really. She should have known her bird was depressed. And frankly, what I did to her Mynah bird was way worse.”