Oops, long angry post.
I don’t understand why there was no clear plan for the hen party especially when they were all event organisers. I don’t understand why there were men at the hen party. I don’t understand why their idea of fun was to get her drunk at her hen party. I don’t understand why they call themselves her friends/colleagues.
I got the invitation to the party at 11am via an sms. I thought : wow last minute. I hate last minutes. But well, I’ve got to learn to be spontaneous. So I replied to the sms and asked if I need to get the bride-to-be anything, or whether they had anything fun planned. After all, it’s supposed to be a hen party.
“Dunno. You have to ask the rest.”
“I’m not sure. Try the others.”
“I dunno. I just came back from overseas.”
“Have to ask the other 2 girls.”
This came from all 7 of her colleagues. This?! After you told the poor girl to wait to be picked up and surprised?! After yesterday’s much nail biting over the matter of wanting to take control, my mind succumbed to the devil. I asked if they would mind if another invitee (the bride’s cousin) and I planned something. “Oh that would be great. We’re at lost of ideas (sic).” Many phonecalls and smses later, both of us managed to bag a male stripper, a hotel room at 80% discount, and many sabotaging ideas. Being ever-cautious, I sms them again before we went ahead with the plan. “Let’s just meet at (location). We’ll see about the rest later.” was the reply.
Okay. Cancelled all ideas. I imagined the bride (my friend of 8 years) all excited only to discover that their idea of a surprise is to have beer, which she doesn’t drink, at (location) with all the people that she sees everyday at work. I asked if they had gotten anything fun to do. “Oh yeah. Condoms. We’re gonna ask her to blow them up.” And after that? “You see we’re all busy working, so we don’t have time to go buy all those silly stuff.” Hint hint.
Call it sixth sense, but I purposely met the cousin to go to Toys R Us only half an hour before the party starts. We even walked around Far East Plaza before taking a bus to the location. We were 45 minutes late, but we were the first to get there.
So never mind, on with the party. Less than half hour after the bride sat down on the sofa next to me glass in hand, she was leaning on my shoulder complaining of a headache. She’s like me. First hot flushes, then turn beetroot red, then the headaches. So I know she was almost gone. But the guys kept filling up her glass and forcing her to down them (you know how guys are). You should have been there to feel the lull in activity after she managed to get a stranger to blow up a condom. They just sat there as if their mission had been accomplished. By 1030 pm, tiara askew, wand loosely clutched, slip dress drenched, the only thing left to do was to puke. “Oh she’s gonna puke!” cried the girls, but none of them lifted their butts off the chairs to give her a hand. I had to carry her deadweight upon my shoulders to manouvre her down the blasted stairs to the toilet. When we’re back upstairs and I had to leave, I asked the guys which one of them was sending her home, and all they did was shrug and point at someone else. Luckily her cousin was there.
I don’t understand why they had to go ahead with the hen party when the bride’s best friend was overseas, another close friend wasn’t informed and I, her sort-of good friend wasn’t involved. I don’t understand why blowing up condoms would be fun for a bride-to-be. I don’t understand why a hen party can’t be matured, adult, full of fun and un-drunk, at least not until the end of the night.
Oh, the dread of having to see them again on the wedding day.