I’ve been to a few hens’ nights in my time and they’ve ranged from one extreme to the other. There was the ‘tewwibly pwoper’ hens’ night, where the most risque gift given was a pair of dishwashing gloves designed to look like evening gloves and all the guests were tucked up in bed by 10.30pm. I’m reliably informed the ‘stag’ was back by 11pm, hardly drank at all and there was absolutely no strip-joints or other goggling at females involved, either. Both hen and stag were lovely people and obviously made for each other.
Of course there’s been a couple of evenings out where male strippers were on the menu, too, but they’re not really my style. Now I’m not one to be prudish – I’m writing rather raunchy Paranormal romances at the mo for goodness sakes! – but when you’re six months pregnant (like I was) and a male stripper jumps into your lap without a by-your-leave and gives you a lap dance (like he did to me), and everyone’s staring (like they were) and you know he’s only doing it because he feels sorry for the poor pregnant chick with the puffy ankles (okay, so that’s just what I imagined he was thinking since I can’t actually read minds and maybe I’m being grossly unfair but you get the picture)… Well folks, somehow being up close and personal with a hot man is not so sexy anymore. It’s more like, “Eeeeuw! Go away and bother some other woman. I’m pregnant for (insert expletive) sake!” And then there was the bride-to-be being taken off out the back for a private lapdance of her own… Hmmm, I think we’ll leave it at that.
And having been dragged on a few of those sort of outings, after a while they start to get a bit ho hum. Especially when you’re secure in the knowledge that your beloved is back home waiting for you and you can have a private lap dance all of your own for free. In your own home. Where it’s warm. Wearing comfy pjs and slippers, if you so desire. There’s no contest, really.
But I digress – as I am wont to do – so back to THE BEST HENS’ NIGHT EVER. I arrived at the Duxton Hotel in Auckland at around 2pm to find a heap of ladies milling round in a huge hotel room. Downstairs there was the chocolate-only table where everyone had placed a box of their favourite chocolates. (Mine were House of Hamilton hand-made truffles www.chocolatespecialists.co.nz – the best! Take it from a dedicated chocolate connoisseur.) We all brought either a platter of snacks or various cocktail mixers as requested on our invites. Consequently, there was food galore and we started out with bubbles of course, to go with the chocolate… what more could a girl ask for?
But wait, there was more. Throughout the afternoon and into early evening, we had Pampered on Location ladies (www.pamperedonlocation.co.nz) to administer our previously-booked massages, facials, pedicures or manicures and about 7pm, we all changed into our cocktail dresses for the evening. One of guests had been a professionally-trained bar-tender, so she mixed us up the most divine cocktails – whoa! And because of the amount of food we’d all brought, we didn’t even need to order in pizza as we’d planned. Yes, there were a couple of games but they weren’t at all juvenile or embarassing. There was “Pin the Hose on the Fireman” (even if the fireman was only a photo, that was a hoot and what’s not to like about a gorgeous, bare-chested fireman?), and a ‘dress the wedding party’ game, where teams were given a rubbish sack full of bits and bobs and had 10 minutes to design an outfit. I must say that I do think ours should have won because our team was the only one which managed to incorporate the fireman photo into our outfit, but perhaps I’m biased.
Anyway, four of us were staying over so after a few sessions of Buzz! The Music Quizz on the Playstation, I hit the sack around 2am, replete with chocolate and cocktails. The next morning we packed up, went downstairs for a hotel breakfast, then hubby picked me up around midday.
Fantastic hens’ night. And the mini-manicure and pedicure I had done lasted for entire week! Beats the heck out of trawling strip joints and wondering if my car would still be there when I went home or having to pay mega-bucks for a taxi. BTW, I didn’t even have a hangover next day, despite copious champers and cocktails… I reckon all the chocolate I scoffed must have soaked up the alcohol. Anyway, that’s my theory and I’m sticking to it!