The Hysteria of Hen Parties

 

Last year I went to about 18 weddings. Ok that’s a massive lie but I went to a fair few. And that’s fiiiiine as it involved a couple of my finest friends who I was chuffed to bits about tying the knot and all that other excitable jazz. However the thing that kinda has become a problem with many girls is the whole hen party extravaganza. I swear to god the chief bridesmaids lose their fucking mind and turn something that should be relatively simple like getting a group of ladies together to get horrendously drunk… into a 14 page itinerary of complete and utter forced fun shite! Look, we all have had nothing to drink… so lets just calm down with the difficulty level of this event. Thanks.

Firstly, when did a hen NIGHT turn into a hen weekend?! One word… RECESSION. My bank balance sits quite happily at ‘Insufficient Funds’ most days of the year and these super expensive hen parties are a financial joke. Why can’t we just all hook up for a cheeky drink… minus the offensively hideous willy straws and everyone dressed like a whore? And just because you’re rocking a pink feather boa does not bring a sense of class or sophistication to your gypsy outfit. But I digress… All in moderation ladies. I was once invited to a mates ‘hen party’ and it was to be held abroad totaling approx £500. Urmmm that’s a holiday. And a holiday with a friend and a bunch of strangers. Get a grip people! So I politely declined because it was fecking bonkers.

The boys can arrange a stag party within a 10 minute texting conversation that consists of paintballing and getting shit faced at the nearest bar. Simples. However women feel the need to send hundreds of incomprehensible emails a few months before outlining dates, venues, outfits, themes and the all important deposits for the shit activities. Just break it down for me… bullet points. I do not need a 3 paragraph introduction on the bridesmaids and how we all know each other and how we should maybe swap numbers. NO. You’re a stranger danger and apart from seeing you at this no doubt shit as fuck hen soiree, we will not remain friends. Soz.

One thing that really drives me nuts is the fact that nobody makes a bloody decision! The emails that clog up your inbox are full of options. For the love of god can someone just make a pissing decision! Throw out a date and time and whoever can’t make it… then unlucky buddy. This would eliminate the epic back and forth of more strangers sending me irrelevant emails. And stop ‘replying to all’… I don’t even know you!

*Musical Interlude because I’m clearly winding myself up*

After you have come to terms with the fact that you will be financially abused, you then have to deal with the ‘theme’ for the weekend. Why?! The general tone from the bird in charge is similiar to this: “Please note you are required to dress up in a nautical theme! Can't wait to see your outfit!”… it’s arsing winter and I will look like a dick! Did anyone think this crap idea through… at all like? And the activities you are peer pressured into doing are all the things you weren’t the biggest fan of as a child like canoeing, climbing stuff Krypton Factor style and generally making a holy show of yourself… so why the hell would you wanna do that now you’re an adult and all sense of fun has been expunged from your body! One of my pet hates is forced fun and someone trying to make me do something that is gash but passing it off as ‘a laugh!’ I find nothing funny with dressing up in the clichéd regurgitated 'theme' with a 'sexy' twist. But of course for the sake of the group you agree to it because you probably will just get FOMO (fear of missing out) anyways.

Another ‘duty’ you are obligated to do for the bride to be is this photobook thingy. Yes the sentiment is lovely and you get to chuckle oh so heartedly at old pics of you all BUT it’s effort. Is that not what Facebook is there for… to see and share pictures? If you want the pics so badly… then seek and you shall find. But guilt has led me to emailing photos to the organizer person just for her to reply and say “Sorry but I can’t open the file you sent me!” So alas here I am scanning photos like it’s 2003. These extra little ‘fun’ things then become homework and you can now taste the bitter and bloodied metallic emotion of resentment towards the bride… who is actually your friend. Ah well.

Things needn’t be this hard. Girls need to quit getting so damn giddy and just keep it real. Granted the actual weekend can be a success and you come away from it not only skint but with a few fond memories… but the elaborate A Team styled planning before and regimental duties were not necessary. Nobody is gonna let the bride have a crap night out… and pretty sure she doesn’t give a flying fuck as long as she gets an oiled up stripper offering her to lick cream off his penis. Just saying.

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