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Mr. Spider and I liked the idea of having a Jack and Jill combined bachelor/bachelorette party since before we got engaged. We envisioned a crazy, drunken ride on a decked out party bus to Atlantic City, followed by debauchery throughout the night culminating in a hangover brunch special of sheepish grins and secret jokes. When I learned that it was not exactly appropriate for the bride or groom to plan their own bachelor/bachelorette parties, I reluctantly stepped aside and handed over my whistle and clipboard.
I can’t remember where I first heard of Jack and Jill parties (aka Stag and Doe parties) but I do remember watching Ryan and Trista’s joint party and thinking, that’s what I want. As far as I knew, Mr. Spider was in on the plans with me as we often joked about what crazy things our wedding party would together. All seemed sweet.
Enter idiotic machismo obsolete dogma that every man deserves a “real” bachelor party. Enter tacky catch-phrases like “last night of freedom” and “rite of passage” and moronic pleas of “can’t you respect what the groom wants” and “it’s not just about you“. All of which sounded to me like little boys looking for excuses to be bad and laugh and point at the evil controlling ball and chain.
The truth? Jill could care less that Jack wants to go see strippers. In fact, seeing strippers separately (say that 10 times fast) had been worked into the night’s festivities. What Jill can’t get with, is the idea that a joint party is being thrown out the window because of cheesy ass definitions of what a bachelor party should and should not be. Fun - YES; Joint Fun - apparently NO.
Thus far, we have not succumbed to any outside pressures on our wedding plans. When my dad expressed an interest in having a Chinese banquet, I chased that thought out of his head. When Mr. Spider’s mom suggested I rent a wedding gown instead of buying one, I gave her a bug eyed look and politely declined. To now have to accept that plans need to be trashed because of the manipulation of exterior opinions peeves me deeply. To have to accept the implications that I tried to control, deny and disrepect my future husband by wanting a joint party (that included separate party time) eats at the core of me.
Alas, my dreams of an awesome Jack and Jill have turned into a nightmare.
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