Fiancée at bachelor party? No way, Jose!
Last Thursday’s paper carried a story so disturbing, so astonishingly nauseating, it made me question my belief in humanity. I am, of course, talking about the story about the man who invited his fiancée to his bachelor party.
But it wasn’t just his fiancée. The writer, Scott Mayerowitz, also invited some platonic “female friends” to the gathering in Vail. There was no wild party. No testosterone-fueled debauchery.
The only redeeming quality in the article was that it was refreshing to finally see a guy in the Trending section wussier than me.
A bachelor party is supposed to be a male-only celebration of his one last night of freedom. It’s not for him to cheat, but rather to have one final macho-infused blast. It’s where he can be obnoxious, and loud and ogling, before being obligated to submit to the rules of polite society.
Having your bride in tow defeats the purpose. Bringing your fiancée to your bachelor party is like bringing an elk to hunting camp.
Scott implies this is a trend, where guys invite their future spouses, or even father-in-laws, to come along to the pre-wedding revelry. He says this oblivious to the fact that if your fiancée or father-in-law was at your bachelor party, you didn’t have one.
“Strippers and all-night binge drinking weren’t going to cut it for my bachelor party,” Scott arrogantly writes. If that’s not your thing, fine. We can all respect that, but if you’re emotionally unable to spend 48 hours without the person you’re going to spend nearly every waking moment with over the next 60 years, your relationship has the stability of a South Korean ferry boat.
According to statisticbrain.com, 47 percent of bachelor parties involve exotic dancers. Mine didn’t. They were, like, from Iowa.
My Vegas bachelor party took place exactly 10 years ago this week. One of the cars in the caravan broke down. Security kicked us out of the Oasis Casino. Two of my groomsmen threw up on the side of I-15. And that was before we got to Las Vegas.
Am I proud of this? No, but I needed it. Guys need this: To run wild and get it out of your system before you have to be responsible and pay mortgages and do things like re-enact the movie “Frozen” with your 5-year-old who doesn’t seem to get the fact that you do NOT want to pretend to be Queen Elsa — especially since it’s your turn to be Princess Anna.
Scott says one afternoon of his “bachelor party” was “spent in the lobby of our hotel, curled up by the fireplace playing with the two resident dogs, Speedy and Jeepers.” This is where I lost all respect for Scott, unless “Speedy” and “Jeepers” are the names of strippers.
Forbes also ran a story on how bachelor parties are supposedly evolving. “I wasn’t interested in seeing any strippers,” said one groom-to-be, Brian, just back from the festivities.
Of course Brian would say this. He did not want the future Mrs. Brian to open a magazine and read how her husband woke up in room 3112 of the MGM Grand with a black eye, 9 ATM receipts, a three-quarters-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and “Anastasia.”
According to the article, guys are supposedly scheduling alternative bachelor party activities, such as dining at gourmet restaurants and having “private cigar rolling lessons.”
Cigar rolling lessons. That’s good. Countless guys are asking themselves: Why didn’t I think of that?
“Yep, honey, that’s what we did all weekend — learn how to roll cigars. Say, do you happen to have any penicillin?”
I’ve been to numerous, traditional Las Vegas bachelor parties. In every case, the bachelor remains, to this day, in a successful marriage — except for me after Marie reads this column.
So to the soon-to-wed bachelors out there, I say: Go wild. Have fun. But whatever you do, do NOT invite your fiancée. That’ll just make Speedy and Jeepers jealous.