I’m a happily married man whose wife reads this blog, and I’m not ashamed to tell you that my bachelor party was a pretty wild affair!
Several of my close male friends and I gathered to play a round of golf and afterwards, we had some bracingly cold diet root beers while telling ribald jokes at my expense! We thought about getting steaks but passed because that’s a LOT of red meat. I will tell you, if that night was a movie, some of the salty language and situations we got ourselves into very well might have earned us a HARD PG-13 rating!
That being said, I wouldn’t even call it a bachelor party. I mean, where’s the fun to be had without our wives and girlfriends along anyway? And I didn’t want a lot of excessive drinking, or strippers. That stuff is gross, demeaning and a waste of money. Plus, if you drink a lot, I’m told you could wake up up with one WHOPPER of a headache! If that’s what being a party animal is all about this is one chicken who prefers his coop! Luckily, we were all in bed by midnight, (11 Central!) and a swell time was had by all.
I can tell you what didn’t happen…
We definitely didn’t hang out on the highway harassing passing vehicles, handcuff a little person to my arm all night, get into barfight with Canadian mounties and Hell’s Angels, have several of my friends die in an alligator attack, drive our car off a cliff, shoot each other with stun guns, or have a fully naked woman launch herself off the top of a stripper pole, and land directly on my bladder.
Because that would be a DISASTER.
If you’re interested in reading about some of those actual, real-life, final-night-o’-freedom catastrophes, check our our photo gallery, BIGGEST BACHELOR PARTY DISASTERS.
Just know that NONE of those things happened at mine.
OK- I have a teensy confession to make.
Some of that root beer wasn’t diet.
Love you, honey.