We make our way over to where Jamie’s Best Man, Aled, is standing. We grab a drink and chat it up with a few more of Jamie’s mates. The guys are all standing next to a table with their jackets hanging on the edge. I hop onto one of the barstools at the table and reach across towards the two gentlemen sitting opposite me.
“Hey guys, I’m Jozef,” I say.
They shake my hand, somewhat reluctantly and offer their names.
“Hmmm,” I think to myself, “I hope Jamie’s friends aren’t all like this.”
The rest of the guys grab their drinks and we decide to head over to a cozy, semi-circle shaped booth that just opened up. We take a seat, I glance over to our former meeting spot and notice that the two guys I just met are still sitting there. I lean over to Jamie’s friend Charlie and ask why they haven’t followed.
“They’re not with us,” he says.
“What do you mean?” I ask, as the realization of my error sweeps over me.
“I’ve never seen them before in my life,” Charlie replies.
Well, that’s just perfect. 5 minutes in a bar in Swansea and already I’m hitting on other dudes. :)
By this point, Jamie is wearing a kilt. But no ordinary kilt. Underneath the fuzzy sporran (the man-purse that hangs in the front) is a big, foam cock. I’ve never been to a stag before, but I’m already excited at the direction this night is taking and looking forward to the shenanigans that are sure to follow. One of those shenanigans has come in the form of Neil: Neil stands out a little from the rest of us. He’s in his fifties, and the rest of us are in our twenties. We have ten fingers, Neil has nine and a half.
The reason for Neil’s semi-appendage was never made known to me, but I was immediately informed of the traditional ritual of “Sucking the Stub”. Like a right of passage, all men before me have placed the incomplete digit into their mouths and treated it like a pacifier. I’m still on my first beer and quite unenthusiastic about the idea. But I know that my 10th beer is only so far away, and so is Neil’s stub.
We change locations and I'm no longer in the upper-class setting of Bank Statement, but in the drum and bass pumping, lights flashing atmosphere of Idols. Off in the corner, on a raised platform is an antique dentist chair. Banners hang all around with the slogan, "Dare the Chair". I never refuse a dare, but it's Jamie's night and we throw his cuddly ass up there. A cute brunette with the flattest stomach I have ever seen is on duty and she settles Jamie in. Some dude in an Idols uniform tilts the chair back and the girl starts pouring two bottles of liquor into Jamie's mouth. They kick the chair up and start spinning my friend around and around. Bringing the chair to a halt, the male employee pulls him back again and the shooter girl begins to bottle feed Jamie like a newborn. Resume spinning!!!
Jamie staggers down the steps to a crowd of cheers! I take my place to go up next, but the two staff members are examining the chair from all angles. Soon, tools are retrieved and it's clear to everyone that not only did Jamie dare the chair, he beat the chair!
Enter Carrie; a young Welsh girl with a short bob of sun-blonde hair. She draws me in with her eyes. Most notably, because she is wearing a pair of novelty cats-eye glasses with pink feathers that say "Sex Bomb" across the front. She digs my accent and I dig her everything. We enjoy minutes of flirtatious laughter and gentle elbow touching when Jamie comes over to tell me we're moving on to the next pub. As I'm torn away from my fair-haired femme fatale our eyes meet one last time and without words we say to each other that if it's meant to be, we'll see one another again some day.
The rest of the night is a drunken haze of beer, shots, Liam McPoyle, rain and curry. A taxicab delivers us home and brings Jamie's last glorious night of singledom to a close.
And yes, I did suck the stub... salty.
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1 comment:
What the hell was Liam McPoyle doing there? I'm worried! Did he make you drink a lot of milk. Oh no!
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