Saturday, May 23, 2009

Last night, the Spanish Lady and I attended two separate parties, separately. The occasion was a marriage, and the necessary farewell celebrations of forever-lost tax status-ees. What seemed odd was that the bachelorette party was hosted at hooters, while the bachelor party was held at the bachelor's home, with all the children who were too young to stay out attending. It wasn't all bust, (nyuk-nyuk) however, as we did have some fantastic ribs and a Chuck Norris/Bruce Lee/Chevy Chase triple feature to keep us occupied. As I lay on the floor with my two year old son, C., watching Lone Wolf McQuade demonstrate the lethal efficiency of shirtless roundhouse kicks, I was reminded of why people get married in the first place, and that watching sweaty, shirtless men isn't always gay. I even found a piece of fiction (pictured below) I could share with my soon to be daughter, O., when she has her own bachelor party. Perhaps, by then, there will be a film adaptation.