Cat and I hosted our first Christmas in the new house. New Year’s came and went, spent in The Big Apple with Bill and his then girlfriend, Brenda. Or was it Barbara? Belinda, maybe? Bill’s list of paramours had gotten to the point where it read like a list of tropical storms. Valentine’s Day was even more special, given my and Cat’s engagement. Work continued to go well, and the wedding arrangements fell into place. We were cooking with gas and loving life. Before I knew it, the night of my bachelor party was upon me. What kind of red-blooded American male would I be if I didn’t allow Bill, the obvious choice for best man, to throw me one? “Bill won’t shut up about the ‘talent’ he’s acquired for the evening’s debauchery.” Cat was busy putting on her face, staring intently into the bathroom mirror. Her Manhattan-based bachelorette party was also that night. “Said talent is supposedly pretty filthy,” I teased, wiggling my unibrow. Catherine’s reflection grinned as she applied eye shadow.
