HEN NIGHT
I went to a Hen night recently. It was sweet of the bride to invite me as we’re casual friends and not terrifically close, and so I figured it would have been rude to decline.
We went along to a show called SingAlongAnAbba. It was somewhere between theatre, karaoke and pantomime. You had to hold out props in time to the music (3D glasses for SuperTruperLightsAreGonnaBlindMe; an S & O card for SOS; etc). I tried to get into the spirit of it, but spent the evening feeling like a bit like Woody Allen and Sylvia Plath’s weird lovechild.
To be truthful, I felt quite dissimilar to the other ebullient, well-adjusted Hens, and then even further away from getting married, or liking Abba, so the whole thing was a bit like a grisly sitcom. Things improved later, when we got to the pub. Thankfully, there were a couple of others who seemed a bit out of kilter, which helped.
I went to a Hen night recently. It was sweet of the bride to invite me as we’re casual friends and not terrifically close, and so I figured it would have been rude to decline.
We went along to a show called SingAlongAnAbba. It was somewhere between theatre, karaoke and pantomime. You had to hold out props in time to the music (3D glasses for SuperTruperLightsAreGonnaBlindMe; an S & O card for SOS; etc). I tried to get into the spirit of it, but spent the evening feeling like a bit like Woody Allen and Sylvia Plath’s weird lovechild.
To be truthful, I felt quite dissimilar to the other ebullient, well-adjusted Hens, and then even further away from getting married, or liking Abba, so the whole thing was a bit like a grisly sitcom. Things improved later, when we got to the pub. Thankfully, there were a couple of others who seemed a bit out of kilter, which helped.
