Imagine you’re a man (if you’re not one) and you’ve just arrived home on a regular Tuesday. You open the door and walk in on your wife and her friends in the living room, while your wife is getting a lap dance from a handsome, chiseled stripper .
“Oh, hey babe. You look upset,” your wife says, innocently. “Is this not ok?”
Back in reality, my husband just returned from a bachelor party weekend with a group of guys he’s known since childhood. It’s great that they have the chance to reconnect every now and then. When the wives are around, I think we’d all agree that they have a great time together. I’m sure it’s tenfold when they’re away for a weekend without us girls.
It got me thinking about what’s acceptable in a marriage on any normal day vs. what passes for a “right of passage” or a “guy thing” when it’s called a bachelor party. These days, bachelorette parties can involve the same entertainment, but most of the brides-to-be I’ve known have either spent a day at the spa being wrapped in seaweed while sipping cucumber water or gone wine tasting for the weekend. Somewhere along the line girls ok’d the idea that, before tying the knot, their guys could pay to get up close and personal with strange women.
Women are different than men. It’s no secret. I know for sure that I’m not the only girl on the planet that doesn’t get turned on by a guy in a thong thrusting his crotch in my face. Call me a buzz-kill, a prude or even a germ-phobe. For me, the experience has to start a little farther up. If my brain isn’t interested in a guy’s intelligence, charm, or Robert Downey Jr-esque wit, then I’d rather be by myself indulging in a (organic, humanely-raised) bacon cheeseburger and a Heineken. I could be trapped in an elevator with a hybrid of Tom Hardy (I’m sorry, I just forgot my name), Liev Schreiber (have you seen him lately in his new show with that deep, sexy voice?), and Alexander Skaarsgard (yes, you may certainly suck my blood). And still – nothing. Of course, if that actual situation ever comes up I’ll be sure to let you all know how it went.
For men, the fantasy is the turn on. There she is, this (probably) big-boobed pleasure-giver who has all the right moves and the only thing she asks of him is to sit back and enjoy. He doesn’t have to call her the next day, he doesn’t have to console her if her cat dies, and he doesn’t have to do yard work for her.
Yeah, that sounds like a fantasy, all right. No wonder guys love strip joints so much.
(PS: I realized after publishing this that a hybrid is a combination of 2 things, not three. Oops.)