So, I am going to a bachelor party tonight.
You know the usual: tapas bar and cocktails.
Yes, that’s tapas not topless.
Although my Best Friend In the Male Catagory, the fella getting married tomorrow, has a healthy affection for T&A, I am just guessing he doesn’t really feel the need to shove bills dangerously close to any be-thonged orifice to ensure a good time.
So, for now, it’s just me and a few of his friends and tapas and conversation.
That is until one of ‘em gets so drunk he lifts his beer and says, “you know what? We oughta hit a nudie bar!” as drunken men are wont to do,* whereby we all crowd into a cab somewhere til we are on our way to some back hills tittie club, which is probably what they all wanted to do in the first place, but there are wives and girlfriends to consider, so who am I to just suggest we skip the formalities and save some time and energy and head straight for the silicone hills? I’ll let them think of this one all on their own.
Plus, I really enjoy tiny foods.
And a at least the first portion of the evening will give me a chance to chat and catch up with my pal The Groom, before the the second part of the evening kicks in and the inevitable roar of “Pour Some Sugar On Me” drowns out any discernable conversation.
Full report next week. Please stand by.
* please email complaints to firstname.lastname@example.org - subject: I am sick and tired of your goddamn gender stereotypes, ann-frank!