Filed under: Might As Well Have A Appletini, Not That There's Anything Wrong With That, Parties Where People Pass Out Drunk
While Facebook-stalking this morning, I came across a photo album from a friend of a friend’s engagement party. Yes, the one above, and yes, my asshole instinctively puckered up from the mere thought of that being me one day; frou-frou drink in hand, posing with a girl in a hideous cocktail dress, whom I probably don’t particularly care for, anyway.
There better be beer at my party. There better be real liquor; not Baja Bob’s Cocktail Mix. There better be groups of people doing shots in the kitchen and a baseball game on TV in the living room. And mini-hotdogs. These are things I need at my party. There should also be midgets on tricycles serving the hors d’œuvres, though I would understand if that particular wish were not granted. (With the economy the way it is, I’m well aware that it’s hard to find high-quality little people on a tight budget.)
This engagement party, after all, is a celebration of me.
Yeah, that’s right, ladies. I know you think that from the time a man gets on his knee and truly professes his love to you, till the day he conveniently dies in a bizarre lawnmower accident, six days after signing his life insurance policy, that the entire world revolves around you, but allow me to spoil that fantasy. The engagement party is ours.
You get the planning of the wedding, the rehearsal dinner, the wedding itself and all the other ridiculous shit you make up over the course of the year, that forces every resentful woman in your bridal party to own 147 different dresses. That’s all yours and I wouldn’t dare try to take any of it away from you. But let’s be realistic. That ring on your finger? It cost me anywhere from 5-10K. Because of my devotion to you, I put all of my other wants and needs aside and chose, instead, to make you the happiest person on Earth. But, realize that, on your hand, you are wearing my new pool table, computer, TV, camera and trip to Vegas. The least you could do is let me have the engagement party.
Now where’s that midget with my stuffed mushrooms?
(Update: As previously noted, I do like a good fruity alcoholic beverage. Just won’t be happening at my engagement party. I’ll be trying way too hard to make up for all the masculinity I’ll lose once I’m actually married.)
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