It’s good to have a party story. Sort of like a party joke. Something that is light, funny, a little self-deprecating, and can tell other people something about you.
For me, it’s this story:
Two days before my wedding, a dozen of my closest friends took me out for a bachelor party. We piled into the limo, and headed for Hollywood. As we were traveling, I was presented with a number of "gifts". I started opening packages. “Great, Vaseline” “Oh plastic handcuffs, funny” “Gold coin condoms... yeah you guys are too funny”. I kept shoving the stuff under the seat, back at my “friends”, anything to get it out of the way.
One condom was opened up, unrolled and inflated. Note: An inflated “balloon” will immediately fly out the open sunroof of a moving limousine. California Highway Patrol officers and limo drivers do not find this as funny as bachelor party revelers in said limo.
Once I had gotten through the embarrassing gifts, we thankfully arrived at our dinner destination. Dar Maghreb
, a restaurant that is, “like dining in a fine Moroccan house” on a traditional Moroccan dinner (an place I highly recommend!)
Apparently, one of the “features” at a traditional Moroccan restaurant is a belly dancer. When the 20 something young lady came over and started dancing it was quickly pointed out to her that this was my bachelor party, and then decided that what really needed to happen was that I should dance with her.
Having more belly than dancing ability, I made a fool of myself for a minute or two and then thought that I was done. As a grand finale the dancer leaned way back as if doing a limbo shaking shoulders and hips and said, “ok, now you lean over me”. As I bent over the woman, out of my shirt pocket come half a dozen gold coin condoms that go bouncing off her bare midriff.