The tradition of a bachelor party actually began in ancient Sparta. Before the night of his wedding, a male Spartan warrior (yes, they had female warriors too) would sit around eating and drinking with his male friends the night before the wedding. At the end of the night, he'd say goodbye to his carefree time as a bachelor and pledge his continued loyalty to his comrades.

Sounds tame by comparison to the modern image of the bachelor party? It's not too different from how mine went. Yes, I who wrote I'd elope if I were you have now survived that trial. Most of the night was spent in a bar, with the alcohol flowing freely (to those of us of age). I got to talk and visit with my friends, play pool rather poorly (sunk the 8 ball on my second shot...of the game), and have fun.

What, no stripper, you ask?

My friends knew full well that a stripper wouldn't do much for me or provoke me. Unlike many men, I do not seem to get beer goggles, and the casual woman, no matter how sexy she acts, isn't my type. So they talked one of my female friends (most of whom were in attendance) into dressing in her French Maid outfit. If she had done what was originally planned (read a story to me from my collection -- sorry about this long aside), one of my good friends would have won a bet with me. But, since everyone was excited about the party, we hurried to the bar, but not before I got some gag gifts that were truly atrocious puns.

At the bar, they toasted me. It was cool to be toasted. The picking at the institution of marriage was rather limited. Eventually, those of us who could drink were pleasantly buzzed. Though it would have been possible, I didn't get myself hammered -- I needed to put on a kilt in the morning. Almost everyone else was smart enough to do the same. Overall, the evening went wonderfully.

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