Stag Party

MidWeek (Hawaii) - - Front Page -

I feel that I’m pretty lucky to have a full so­cial life. I have my job and from years past like high school and my home of in­vites to so­cial events, birthday par­ties, wed­dings, baby lu­aus, grad­u­a­tions and other spe­cial oc­ca­sions.

been my part­ner in crime for nearly 30 years of marriage, and we go ev­ery­where with each other.

But sprin­kled through­out the year are par­ties or events where I’m the only one in­vited. My wife never has a prob­lem with me go­ing alone, but I al­ways feel self-im­posed guilt that I’m go­ing some­where to have fun with­out her.

In fact, I’ll even down­play the event, say­ing that it’ll prob­a­bly be some bor­ing party and that I’m go­ing to show face and then sit by my­self un­til there’s an op­por­tu­nity to leave. In re­al­ity, that’s never the case, but I feel bet­ter about it.

Of course my wife sees right through that, but en­cour­ages me to have a great time and jok­ingly “twists the knife” by she’ll prob­a­bly end up just clean­ing the house.

Re­cently I was in­vited to a birthday party for one of my

at an ob­scure lounge by the air­port and it would prob­a­bly be at­tended by her fam­ily and a few friends where we’ll have food and birthday cake. Oh yeah, it was a “white” party where we were asked to all dress in white at­tire.

It ac­tu­ally turned out to be a roar­ing party with lo­cal-style food, drinks, a live band, danc­ing and karaoke. I planned on be­ing a “good boy,” so I planted my­self at a ta­ble and watched as the room par­tied hard.

At one point of the night, the birthday girl was danc­ing near our ta­ble and in­ad­ver­tently knocked over a full bot­tle of Heineken beer (not mine) all over the front of my white pants. For the rest of the evening, I con­tem­plated how I was go­ing to ex­plain to my wife how this hap­pened at a “quiet” lit­tle party.

When I walked into our bed­room, my wife was on her iPad. With­out look­ing up, she asked if I had a good time. I was go­ing to sneak into the bath­room and change. When I was al­most scot-free, she then said, “I’m not wash­ing those pants!” rna­ga­sawa@mid­week.com

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