This has been by far the busiest year of my life to date. If I’m not swanning around between university and work then I’ll no doubt be found getting rather bladdered on a stag do. It’s like every single one of my friends has decided to get married this year in a collective attempt to bankrupt me.
I spent this weekend in Liverpool to celebrate the last days of freedom for my soon to be brother-in-law. It’s a bit of a strange concept when you think about it. Me and my brother we’re there as his mates trying to get him outrageously leathered, chatting to women and hopefully getting him a face full of boobs whilst at the same time trying desperately to avoid the thought of him copping a load of our sister. Thankfully, neither I nor my brother has any shame… or indeed, dignity so we fitted in quite well. I’d like to say that it was a welcome change from the last stag do I went on, where I feared for my anus being ripped apart by a bunch of shirt lifters. But this was much worse, as it wasn’t my anus I was now fearful of becoming destroyed … it was my sisters. Bleeeuuuuurgh. The less said about that particular conversation the better, before I vomit down myself, again.
What I don’t envy, is the best man. I was the best man for my brother a few years ago and it was a genuinely terrifying experience. You know that feeling when you’re going on holiday where you have to keep checking your passport is still in your pocket every five minutes? It’s like that, only much worse because you know looking after the rings is rather an important part. Ordinarily it’s a simple job, if your hands aren’t boiling hot and dripping wet through (as my sister probably will be on her wedding night) that is. I vividly remember there being an open fire place in front of me and thinking that instead of handing the rings politely over, they’d slip out of my hand violently over the groom’s shoulder to their molten death. Then there’s the best man speech, which isn’t as easy as some of them make it look. It’s actually terrifying. I remember standing there in front of my whole family resorting to jokes about which hand my brother masturbated with. Sorry Mum.
I’m looking forward to this wedding though as I’m merely an usher. I had asked to be a page boy but apparently I’m too old. Although I’ll take some comfort knowing that I’m not the best man with all that pressure. It’s hard enough being a best man… but having met him at the weekend; it’ll be even harder given that he’s a massive cock end.