Why I Hated His Strip-Club Bachelor Party

Being the modern, liberated, well-educated woman that I am, I never thought I would mind the man in my life going to a strip club. Years ago, I would even occassionally join my guy friends for an evening at a gentlemen’s club. It meant free cocktails all night, and have you ever seen the ladies’ room at a strip club? The restrooms are girly bonanzas that range between the cosmetics aisle at a drug store to a miniature Sephora. Plus, strippers on their bathroom breaks have the best gossip. “Desperate Housewives”? “Days of Our Lives”? Child’s play in comparison. Fast-forward to 2008—the year I got married. As bachelor party talk began, it never occurred to me that a strip club might come into play. In the three years I’d been dating my fiancé, he’d never been to one, so I just didn’t consider it. I’ve known plenty of women who have “forbidden” their husband’s from seeing exotic dancers, but I didn’t think my fiancé needed another mother. The strip club conversation simply never had a place in my relationship lexicon.

A week before our wedding, the least-planned-bachelor-party-known-to-man had finally arrived. The event was on the books for six months, yet the groomsmen waited until they got in the car to decide where they were going. That’s when I got the Strip Club Call: my husband-to-be would be spending the evening surrounded by scantily-clad women with enormous breasts; he might get a lap dance; he would be looking at other women all night, as he was about to marry me. Read more …

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