Married Life looking for Bachelor Party Plan by Sebastian Maniscalco

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When I first met my wife, I had some secrets. I couldn’t share. Everybody gots a secret in the room, everybody. Everybody here has a secret, especially that lady. My secret: I couldn’t digest dairy. Ok. Something you can’t share on the first month of the date like, “Hey listen, I can’t have any dessert. I’m gonna shit the bed tonight. Alright.” 

Naw, you just eat the dessert. And you deal with the consequences later on. Alright. I went back to her place. We started to watch a movie. Half way through the movie, the diary starts dancing. I asked her real cool, “Hey listen, do you have a bathroom or something like that?”

I don’t know why I asked, “you got a bathroom or something like that or something I can use?”

Hoping she would say, “Yeah, down the hall to the right, and then you go outside.” 

She was like, “No, it’s just around the corner. You want me to pause the move?” 

I said, “No, actually can you turn it up a little bit. Turn it up. I want to hear the acoustic in the bathroom.” 

So I would lock the door. I would put the water on in the bathroom. Get some noise going. I later told her, “Yeah, I had a dairy problem.” 

“Dairy? I thought you had OCD. I thought you were constantly washing your hands.” 

Washing my hands? I was farting into your towel. Anything to muffle the sound, “phhhhhh.” I hope she don’t wash her face with that. I can’t go back out there. It’s rancid. But it’s fun. 

It’s fun being married, sharing my life with a beautiful woman. All my friends got married when they were real, real young. In the early 20s, they all started families. They were popping out kids. I was the last guy to get married. They were excited for the bachelor party. You know married guys with kids. They are looking for a prison break, right. The phone started ringing off the hook, “We gotta plan your bachelor party or I am going fake my own death soon, alright. I’m six weeks away from starting a fruit stand in Nicaragua. I gotta get out.”

So my buddy, they go plan a Miami weekend. We go Miami for the weekend. It happen to be urban weekend. It’s a black weekend in Miami. So we look like 4 mozzarella sticks at the pool.  My friends still thing they are still in their 20s. My buddies were like, “let’s go to the pool. Let’s go start talking to some chicks.” 

I’m like Steve, “you have tits. It’s over Steven. You have a c cup with a beautiful areola. No ones looking for that Steven.”