For reasons I think you'll instantly understand, there's a late-breaking nickname christening from "Ryan" to "Cryin'." Carry on.
Everyone consoles Cryin', who is really upset that people didn't want to watch the strippers. I'm still not following. And even less so when a second wave of strippers makes its way in and suddenly no one has a problem with it anymore. My brows are so furrowed with confusion and concern it's like I suddenly have two televisions right next to each other. A new TV! Thank you, Uncle Fleissy!
The ladies, meanwhile, are having NO problem with this bacchanal of sex and death (well, neither). A guy strips to his boxers and jumps in the pool. Trista teaches two guys a dance from her Miami Heat days. Don't they mean her "physical therapy specialist" days?
Two of the wedding girls go spy on the Eyes Wide Shut (meaning: steeped in misbegotten symbolism but secretly really boring) moment unfolding with the guys, promising that what she's seen (and what we haven't) is not for Trista's eyes, and that she "won't be mentioning" any of what she saw to her. Well. Mission accomplished.
This juxtaposition is giving me whiplash! Oh, now Trista gets a stripper. And all of the women are fine with it. And no one is uncomfortable. One of them is in a fireman's costume. Jackie proclaims the entire situation "gross." You said it, sister, not me.