You would be forgiven for thinking that I've been caught and stranded at the outer rim of Eyjafjallajökull this past month, so light has my posting been. But I have a note from my Mum, and a handy excuse, for I, along with my sister, the legendary Misssy A, have been attending to our duties as the oldest bridesmaids in town. This is not an easy task. The hen night was last week and given our advancing ages this event had to be carefully planned to avoid the pitfalls that a bride and maids of usual wedding-y ages would be able to sidestep with ease, but those past the age of 35 might have difficulty in surviving.
Drinking in the afternoon where there are no handy cots or beds upstairs to have a wee lie down on around teatime.
There is a point in a woman's life where even the taste of a brandy snap or a rum truffle before teatime can have her needing a disco nap before long. Unfortunately the "toon" hasn't cottoned onto the money making extravaganza that's to be had with the invention of coin-operated pubside sleeping capsules, so either drink up and man up, or have a cup of tea instead and declare your life over. And no, phoneboxes do not count as coin operated sleeping capsules. A policeman kindly told me that.
What would a hen night be without a group of women tunelessly belting "Stand by your Man" or "I Beg your Pardon, I Never Promised you a Rose Garden" depending on what mood you left your husband in to go out subjecting him to lone parenting the kids overnight. The bride wanted karaoke, but the last time she did karaoke she sat on the lap of a stranger and serenaded him like she was Jane McDonald when she used to work on that cruise ship. Sadly for her, we could not find a karaoke bar that wasn't a safe enough distance from Aberdeen's notorious harbour area, so that plan was safely detonated, with no-one getting seriously harmed.
Someone always brings a sex toy along for a laugh
Misguided Ann Summers contributions abound on these occasions, and it's usually from the person you'd least expect, like the bride's Mum's unmarried cousin or the quiet girl in Accounts you had to invite because she invited you to her Born Again Christening celebrations. Yes there's always one hen at a hen night who has popped into Ann Summers beforehand and gone a bit mad. Made up statistics suggest that 70% of all Ann Summers purchases are joke purchases. So much so that the vast majority of the stores' more mechanical devices don't even have working parts, as their main objective is to be screamed at and thrown about a bar hysterically, so why bother? Know this; the bride of advancing years does not want the gift of pants that don't have a hardy gusset attached, and is more likely to put chocolate body paint on her kids sandwiches for their packed lunch when she realises there's nothing else in the cupboard.
The following symptoms of a hen night on a bride and her hens of more mature years are numerous. Known side effects can include :
-Skin rash from the scratchy fake veil the other hens insisted the bride wear the entire night.
-Vomiting- blame it on that dodgy seafood starter you had all you like but remember one thing, you did drink more tonight that you have in the last three years combined. And you haven't drunk a Guinness since you were in the student union in 1990, so why the need for one tonight with a tequila chaser?
-Thrush- Even though you were disgusted at the time with the pair of PVC pants that your boss brought to the hen night with the zip down the front, it's now 1am and you've got them on and are dancing to Nik Kershaw's "Wouldn't it be Good?" in a retro 80's theme club night. Luckily someone else gave you Canesten Duo as a hen present so it's all good.
-Burns- You gave up smoking before you had your kids over ten years ago, but suddenly you fancy a cigarette because you are hammered. Not only do you try and light the wrong end but once you've got the blasted thing going you try to tidy your hair up with that handy handbag sized hairspray you've got in your bag, and end up with severe chemical burns as the lit end ignites the hairspray and causes a blue flash that can be seen the other end of town.
Your homing device no longer works
Time was you had a reliable inbuilt homing chip that was known to get you safely back into your bed from wherever you had ended up on a night out, with no actual memory the next day of what route you had taken or even who you had been with. This device, like any mechanical equipment will fall into disrepair if not used regularly. They've even changed where the taxi ranks are since you were last out a million years ago, so it's a good thirty minutes before you realise you are actually standing in a nightclub queue. If your homing device is knackered, get a hotel room or have your husband collect you and suffer his ridicule and possible disgust if an overnight pass has not been previously negotiated.
This post is dedicated to the lovely Sezza who will be married to her man AT BLOODY LAST on 29th May 2010. Congratulations to you both.
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