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I WANT THOSE GENES |
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The initial invitation was for the wedding dinner. We were
invited to share in the celebration of marriage of our good friend Domingo
(not his real name, but close) to his beloved Franchesca (also close) on
the evening before they would tie the knot in San Francisco Mayor Gavin
Newsom’s office, with the mayor officiating.
Not a big deal, unless you’re 90 years old, as is Domingo.
A lot of 90 year old men get married again. You read about it
all the time in the paper. It’s usually in some retirement home, and the
groom is wheeled to the altar, where he happily gives his elderly bride a
peck on the cheek and then they go take naps.
I knew this wasn’t going to be that kind of wedding when,
the following day, I got the invitation for the bachelor party.
Domingo isn’t your ordinary 90 year old. I’ve known him
for a long time, and he is living proof that the new 90 is the new 50. Of
course, it helps to be a freak of nature.
He still plays tennis almost every day, and competes in
national and international tournaments, outlasting his opponents one way
or another. He’s up early, and out most nights. Before he met his new
bride by conventional means, he was working the internet on Match.com and
other dating sites, looking for…..who knows? All I know is I want his
genes.
So I wasn’t surprised to receive the invitation for the
bachelor party. Since I’d never been to a 90 year old’s bachelor
party, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Strippers were a possibility,
but not likely.
The event was in a private room at a local restaurant.
Domingo had gathered about 60 of his closest friends, many of whom still
had their real teeth. Almost all of them, except me, were wearing suits
and ties. Obviously, it had been some time since they had been to a
bachelor party. I was ready for action, they were ready for sleep.
As soon as we were seated, Domingo called on me to say
something. I wasn’t prepared, primarily because this was a BACHELOR
PARTY, or so I thought. I guess in the olden days, it was more of a roast.
So I stood up, looked around at the stone-sober group in front of me, and
knew I was going to die.
Sure enough, my little talk about how Domingo’s sex-change
operation was almost complete (thereby fulfilling Mayor Newsom’s
requirements of same-sex marriage before he would officiate) was met with
dead silence. There may have been a chuckle, but I think it was actually
someone choking on an ice cube.
I muttered a few other unintelligible (apparently) comments
about how Domingo wanted to know what size breasts he should get as the
final part of his operation, and then slumped back into my seat, secure in
knowing that I had bombed like few have ever bombed before. I vowed never
to speak at a 90 year old’s bachelor party again.
As other speakers followed me, I realized I wasn’t the only
one. Sexual innuendos did not receive the raucous laughter they would
invariably get at a 25 year old’s bachelor party. Apparently, these guys
had heard them all before, or else they didn’t want to think about it.
Either way, I was hoping the strippers would arrive soon.
But the food was good, and some of the speakers fared better
than me. By 9:00 though, I was ready to go home. That’s when a retired
doctor rose up and invited everyone to come out on his boat for a
late-night cruise on the bay.
At least someone had too much to drink, I thought, as I
listened to his ridiculous invitation. I looked around at the
sophisticated, staid group of gentlemen and felt sorry for the retired
doctor, who would be rather lonely on his boat. This group was going home,
just like me.
I said my goodbyes, and headed off to my little bed. Imagine
my surprise when I learned a couple of days later that 12 guys, including
Domingo, had joined the doctor for the late-night cruise. And then they
continued into the night, stopping for a last call at a strip club before
getting home at around 2:00 .
I was relieved to hear, though, that Domingo finally showed
his age. Not only did he refuse the lap dances offered to him, but he also
got his fellow late-night revelers to back his story.
His bachelor party, no thanks to “young” deadbeats like
me, was a huge success. If I hadn’t been asleep, I would have loved to
join him. |
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