“12? Why 12?” I asked.
“So we can make a calendar.”
It had been half an hour since my friends had kidnapped me and thrown me into the back of a van to the theme from the A-Team. We were now sitting in the New York Hotel having lunch discussing how many single ladies I had to have my photo taken with over the course of the day as part of my Dutch stag party.
“There’s a table full of women over there. I could get it all done in one go.” I replied while pointing to a table on the other side of the restaurant. It seemed as if the waiter had put us (the group of loud guys) as far away from the table of respectable looking women as possible. If they had sat us any farther away we would have been in the kitchen.
“No, that’s way too easy.” One of my friends replied. “Besides, it has to be when you are drunk.”
I could not argue with that logic. There are certain protocols for these kind of things after all.
Another hour and several 80s TV show tunes later and we arrived at our second mystery location; an avontuur centrum. I had to question what my friends had gotten me in to when I had to sign a disclaimer promising that I would not hold anyone responsible for any bumps, burses, abrasions, breaks, loss of limbs and/or nasty cases of death. However, it was an extreme amount of fun with laser squash (which looked like something out of a Blake 7 episode), go-cart racing (apparently the disclaimer also covered the go-cart pile up I might have coursed) and laser tag (which I won).
Later, with all the fun but dangerous activities out of the way and the van returned we were able to start on the traditional part of every Dutch stag party. Heavy drinking. It’s at this point that things start to get a little hazy but it went something along the lines of; drink, another drink followed by another drink, a curry, a drink, then another drink, and so on and so on.
It was during our sixth or tenth round that we met Miss January. By this I don’t mean that a stripper arrived (sadly) or that we paid a visit to the red light district. Miss January (as we started to call her) was in fact the first lady to become a part of the calendar of Stu. She was very enthusiastic about the idea. So enthusiastic in fact that she became our official ambassador to all the other women in the bar as well as our official photographer.
“This is Stuart. He’s getting married. We need you to have your photo taken with him.” She cheerily announced as she ran from table to table with camera in hand. Within the space of a few minutes we had covered the whole of 2011 and most of 2012.
I woke up the next morning. I had survived my Dutch stag party bu I had a hangover the size of Belgium, little memory, an upset stomach and a bad back from the go-cart crash. It was awesome!
It also reminded me of what awesome friends I have. However, it seems that one unknown deviant in the group saw fit to attempt blackmailing me. The following day photos of myself doing the Charles’s Angels pose with Miss March and Miss April appeared on Facebook with the message:
“I have more photos like these. Each day I will add one more until you give me lots of money… Each day the price goes up… You know what to do.”
I knew what to do. I showed my soon to be wife. “I should have taken more of an advantage of my Hen party,” she said with a smirk.
I don’t give into demands Mr Ransom demander type person. I will find out who you are (Even though we both know who you are and thought it was hilarious).
Read Part 1 of My Surprise Dutch Stag Party.