**The Stag Do**
When Chris divorced his wife, he swore to himself hed never marry again. After seven years of marriage, hed decided there was nothing good about itjust arguments, nagging, and endless drama.
“Chris, youre talking nonsense,” his mate Steven insisted. “Married lifes good for a blokealways fed, looked after, properly cared for.” He grinned like the cat that got the cream, listing the perks.
“Dunno, Steve. I cooked half the time, always did the hooveringthat was my job. And as for cared for my ex, Kate, had a way of caring that made me want to leg it.”
His wife had been impossible to please. If he bought her gifts, shed complain they werent expensive enough. On holiday, shed watch him like a hawk, convinced hed leer at other women, even humiliating him in front of friends.
The final straw came at her mates birthday party when she slapped him for having one too many brandies. He walked out then and there, resolved to divorce her.
The split was messy. Kate fought tooth and nail, but in the end, he handed over the flat and the carmostly for their daughters sake. He walked away without a fuss.
Time passed. Chris bought a new flat and car, paying off the loan thanks to his hefty salary. He dated, and some women were upfront about wanting marriage, but he stood firm.
“No more weddings. Been there, done that.”
Everything changed at thirty-eight when he met Daisy. Hed bumped into her by chance at a café, out with his mates celebrating Stevens promotion. Two pretty women had taken the next table, chatting quietly over juice.
When his eyes met Daisys, he frozedeep blue, striking under the dim lights.
“Blimey, proper heart-melters,” he thought but kept it to himself.
He couldnt stop staring, and she noticed, lowering her gaze whenever their eyes met.
“Chris, mate, youve got it bad for the bird next to us,” Steven teased.
“Suppose I have,” Chris admitted, deciding to introduce himself.
“Well, get on with it then,” Andrew winked.
Chris stood and approached them.
“Evening. Mind if I join you? Names Chris.”
“Evening,” they replied. “Im Daisy,” said the one hed been eyeing. “And Im Zoe,” added her friend.
“Pleasure. Fancy some wine?”
“No, thanks. We dont drink,” Daisy said.
That night, Chris walked Daisy homesober, since he was driving. Soon, they were dating, realising how well they clicked. Daisy had been briefly married.
“Just didnt work out,” she said shortly, clearly not wanting to dwell. Chris didnt push; he wasnt keen to revisit his own failed marriage either.
Daisy was thirty-five, no kids, an accountant at a construction firm. Serious but creativeshe painted in her spare time, brilliantly at that, and loved gallery visits. She got Chris into it too, much to his surprise.
His mates ribbed him, but he defended her, insisting she had real talent. They even went sketching outdoors, though she rarely had time.
One evening, stroking his cat, Smokey, Chris had a realisation.
“Think Ill ask Daisy to marry me,” he mused aloud. “Shes perfect.”
Smokey blinked lazily, unimpressed.
“Well all live together, eh? You like her tooalways climbing onto her lap when shes over.”
Hed found Smokey as a stray kitten years ago, tiny and mewling. Now, the big grey tom was his shadowlazy, clever, and too dignified to beg.
When Chris proposed, Daisy said yes. They planned a quiet registry office do, but friends and family protested.
“Whats it matter if its your second wedding? Dont be tightwere throwing you a proper do!”
Not wanting to seem stingy, they agreed. The guest list ballooned, invites went outthen came the next demand: a stag do.
“Chris, no way youre skipping a stag night. Its tradition!”
“Lads, were nearly fortybit old for all that.”
“Rubbish! Youve got to say goodbye to single life properly,” Steven argued.
The wedding was set for Friday, so they scheduled the stag night for Wednesdayplenty of time to recover.
Chris took the week off to prepare. On Tuesday, he stocked up on booze and ordered cateringsushi, seafood, meats.
By Wednesday, the table was set. Smokey, sniffing the spread, made a beeline for it.
“Not for you, mate,” Chris said, relocating him to the sofa.
His mates arrived in high spirits.
“Right, ladsbeer first, then spirits?”
“Actually, Im off it,” Andrew admitted. “The missus said if I come home pissed again this month, shes divorcing me. And Im driving.”
“Wives, eh?” Steven sighed. “Same here. Mother-in-laws flying in at four a.m.got to fetch her.”
“Steve, you were the one banging on about the stag!” Chris laughed.
“Wait till youve got a mother-in-law,” Andrew muttered.
“Mine lives in Cornwall,” Chris said cheerfully. “Shell come for the wedding, then vanish again.”
“Rub it in, why dont you?” groaned Paul, whod lived with his in-laws for twenty-five years.
They ate, drank, chatted about work, politics, cars. Paul bragged about his daughters volleyball trophy. By ten, they were leaving.
“Thats it?” Chris asked.
“Mate, weve got jobs. And families.”
After theyd gone, Chris sat at the table. Smokey stared pointedly at the prawns.
“Go on, then.”
The cat delicately helped himself. Chris cracked open a beer, dozed off, and woke to find Smokey sprawled across the table like a king.
“Cheeky sod.”
The stag night was tame, but the wedding was a riot. Married life with Daisy was everything hed never had the first timehappy, easy, and worth every moment.
