My date for the last wedding I attended was hunted down on her hen night and I was hoping to do the same thing for my mate’s forthcoming nuptials. No such luck.
Nearly 20 of us hit the streets of Nottingham at the weekend, dressed as Pink Ladies a la Grease, and armed with dare cards and peg. The peg game rocks – the first girly to get rid of her 10 allocated pegs (the wooden washing line variety) by attaching them to guys without them knowing is the winner. The fun isn’t in getting rid of your pegs first but in the hilarity of unsuspecting guys hanging at the bar with their mates, completely unaware they they have two dozen pegs attached to the back of their shirt. Most men take this in good spirits and are happy to play along when their pals get pegged.
Anyway, yes, I was hoping that maybe the streets of Nottingham might throw forth a decent looking male who I could swap numbers and invite to be my wedding date in a month’s time. However, the streets were not paved with gold. Although there were at least three other gaggles of attractive hen parties strutting around the bars of Robin Hood terrotory, the good looking guys were clearly having a night off.
This is what we found:
- A guy who thinks Milton Keynes is a – and I quote – “shit hole” because it has lots of roundabouts. When asked why lots of traffic islands makes a place a “shit hole” he couldn’t answer. I think his brain stopped working at this point. Never trust the opinion of a guy with less than a dozen teeth in his mouth, that’s what I say.
- A guy who asked if I was a personal trainer because my calves were huge. Not sure if this is a compliment or not. The jury’s out.
- A guy that thought anyone wearing a Pink Ladies jacket would be up for a cuddle. Back off Mr Tactile.
- Two complete scumbags, clearly off their heads, who starting spitting at some of the girls in our party because an attack of paranoia meant they thought we were laughing at them. They must have been real tough guys threatening a bunch of girls wearing pink sparkly eyeshadow and limping home in their high heels. Losers! In all seriousness, they were incredibly threatening, had one of the girls in fits of tears, and were a terrible representation of the male brand. So we dobbed them in to the sexy looking coppers who happened to drive past a minute later. Ha!
- Lots of ugly guys who probably spend their weekends looking for hen parties to prey on.
So, all in all, not a successful night on the talent front. However, it succeeded in the girly bonding stakes. We shared jokes about men, swapped make-up application tips, expressed sympathy over the agony of wearing killer heels, danced in a variety of crazy styles and sang cheesy dance tunes until we could barely speak. You can’t beat a good girly weekend, even if it does result in a headache from hell and spending the better part of a gloriously sunny day sleeping off the effects of a heavy weekend.
But the dilemma remains – no date for the wedding! Maybe I’ll remain true to my single buddies and go it alone?
