Crashing a Guys' Football Party

Saturday night we were invited to watch a football game at one of my husband’s fraternity brothers’ house. When we got there, I scouted around to see what the other women were wearing. I found out the other women were wearing nothing.

Got your attention, didn’t I? You’re thinking what could be better at a football party? Beer? Chips? Naked women? Get your heads out of the gutter.

There were no women. Just me! It was a bachelor, or stag, or guys’ football party. But nobody told my husband.

I made an announcement right off because I knew from experience when girls all get together and one of them brings a husband, it changes the dynamic, no matter how nice he is. “Okay, so I’m the token girl here? I want you to feel free to pass gas and scratch and say the f-word. I don’t want to ruin anyone’s fun.”

The guys were all polite. “Oh no, we’re okay, we won’t do any of that.” Then one proceeded to scratch himself and plunge the same hand into the potato chip bowl.

For you gals who haven’t had the privilege of going to one of these all guy parties, here’s what you’re missing Menu items: chicken, meat balls, ribs, hot dogs, potato chips. Not one veggie or bowl of grapes, or nice little crackers with flavored creme cheese in the shape of footballs. And not a fork, knife, or napkin anywhere to be found. This lovely fare was served on saucers with the little indentation in them to hold a cup.

The TV’s, one in every room, were turned up so loud vases were inching their way off the mantle. The guys watched just enough to yell how indignant they were at the TV when someone fumbled or got sacked, but they didn’t seem to be all that into it. In fact, during halftime they went in the kitchen to refill beers and dip into a big vat of lil’ smokies, and didn’t even bother to rush back in time to watch the second half kickoff. They were talking guy stuff, which seemed to be more about electronics than anything manly or rugged you’d think guys would talk about to other guys. No one talked about the size of their appendages or flexed their muscles, which was what I’d expect to see. Maybe they were holding back because I was there.

I had fun, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a lot like those lil’ smokies – great on occasion but I wouldn’t want to make a regular diet of them. And Lord only knows what the guys said about me. “Who brought the gash?” “Yeah, she put a damper on everything.” “Good thing we had the lil’ smokies or the party would have been completely ruined.” “Yeah, and she didn’t even have big ‘uns.” Yeah, how worthless can you get.”

Because this is how guys talk when women aren’t around, I’m just sure of it.