Via Esquire.com
When people hear I’m engaged, the most common question they ask is, “How’s the wedding planning going?”
This question usually leads right into the second most common question:
“So, are you going to let your fiance have a bachelor party?”
This, my chiropractor just asked me, as he was cracking my back and popping my bones back into place last week.
Grunting between pops of my back, I replied, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
Maybe it was because of my answer. Maybe it was because of how fast I answered him. Or maybe it’s because my chiropractor thinks I’m some kind of wholesome angel and thus utterly innocent to the workings of such shady places. I have no idea, but the next thing he asked me was, “Bonnie, do you know what happens during a bachelor party?”
Buddy. Oh, buddy buddy buddy. I pat his hand (somehow, I felt like I had to comfort him) and said, “Of course, I do.”
All was quiet except for the sound of my bones cracking. After a moment of confused silence, he asked me how I was so okay with it all.
I told him that it’s actually pretty simple, and it all goes back to what I learned in kindergarten….
Bonnie’s rules for kindergarten, bachelor parties, and life in general:
- Keep your hands to yourself.
- Keep your mouth shut and don’t stick out your tongue.
- Keep what’s in your pants IN YOUR PANTS.
- Keep your zipper zipped at all times.
- If someone tries to touch you in your private places, you say “NO” and get away from them.
Simple, right?
Clyde gets The Rules. And, to be completely honest, I trust Clyde. That’s why I don’t see why Clyde shouldn’t have a bachelor party.
If I didn’t trust him, I would be out of this relationship faster than he could say “wait.” I would throw on my killer shoes (like I did all the other times) and let him watch my ass sashay its way out of of his life. It’s not that hard at all to do.
So, yes. I know exactly what goes down in a bachelor party. It’s no secret to me. It also doesn’t bother me when he goes to his party, because I know he’s no stray dog. I know my man wouldn’t do anything to disrespect me, hurt me or make me mad. I trust him.
Trust takes a long time to establish, kind of like our credit history. Actually, now that I think about it, trust is the credit rating for a relationship. We have to nurture it and check on it constantly to make sure it’s intact. We have to guard it carefully and make sure not to weaken it by taxing it beyond its limits.
Trust takes a surprising amount of time, sweat and effort to build with someone else, just like our credit score. And as long as we respect the power inherent in what we’ve built, our rating is golden. However, just one tiny misstep and… KA-BLAM!!! We can kiss that perfect score good bye and say hello to years of working to repair our broken rating.
At the same time, credit histories are generally more forgiving, since we get to start with a clean slate once we survive the seven years after a Credit Apocalypse (that is, bankruptcy). To the best of my knowledge, there’s no such rule for humans. Sure, we have a thing called “forgiveness” that we can dole out at any time, but that doesn’t mean we’ll ever forget. I’m a double-Scorpio. I never forget when someone hurts me, and my trust in them will never be made whole. At best, it will be a broken thing held together in an ugly manner with a bunch of duct tape.
When Clyde and his friends go out for his bachelor party, I know they’re just out to have a good time and to celebrate commiserate escort him into the land of the Married Pod People with one last huge hedonistic party as a single, unmarried man.
I’ve had some people tell me, “You’re just flirting with disaster if you let him go. How do you know he won’t have a slip in judgement and accidentally have sex with one of the strippers?”
Accidentally? Really? That’s their reasoning for trying to talk me out of letting him have one?
Look. There’s no such thing as “accidentally” having sex with someone. Temptation exists everywhere, not just in strip bars. What am I supposed to do? Lock him up in a panic room for the rest of his life?
It all comes back again to trust. One night in a strip bar isn’t enough for me to kick him out of my life.
Clyde going out with his friends for their bachelor party also isn’t going to see me heading out to the nearest gun store to buy razor wire, a silencer and a 9-mm. Multiple nights in a week over many weeks… that would be cause to raise hell. But one night? No.
Besides, don’t people know it’s the bachelorette parties that are the craziest? Silly boys.
Just sayin’.