Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Hens just wanna have fun. And flash boozies.

I'm back!

I'm croaking like Kirstie Alley, my liver is threatening divorce, and I still feel the lingering pain of the shampoo-flu, but mostly I'm warm and befuzzled. It's the glow of lady-love.

Oh, how I love an all-estrogen affair. This is Lucy, the inimitable Dr. Dog, who arranged the whole proceedings. She proper medicine-woman, which is desirable when a bunch of out-of-condition mothers and assorted cougars are let loose on bottle shops and serviced apartments.

And here are some of the ladies, frocked up and just a little over-excited. Shaky fingers. Quivering morals. Tenuous grip on dignity and self-respect.

No kids! Champagne! So much to talk about about! We laughed so much we nearly fell off the penthouse balcony.

Did I mention the penthouse?

Dimitria swore that there is a chemical called 'copulin' that will drive men wild. Oprah told her. Then somebody confessed that they can't talk at all during sex, somebody admitted giving constant direction, and somebody shared that they say one thing only: 'What do you want to to do to me now?'

You know who you are.

There was karaoke. Sonia didn't sing much but did a lot of star jumps. It's her signature move. And then Emma-Jane performed this version of Paul McCartney's 'My Love' that got slower and more depressed until it drove us all home to bed, and left this ringing in my ear for two days:





Next day we shifted to the Hilton, where Lucy, Dim and I tried to pony up for another nights debauchery. Chips, coffee, Nurofen, stat.

We pulled it together, Dimi did a beautiful job on my makeup and we swauntered on downstairs, feeling quite the young moderns, at least until until Dim realised she was carrying a Franklins bag full of takeaway Chinese.

More champagne, garcons! Burlesque fabulousness and hilarious good times! So many beautiful buddies. These seem to be the only pics I have, so some of the crew are missing. But not from my mental charge-sheet.

Sonia, Rach and Tiff look happy. Bianca shows the crazy-eyes.

Me with my two sexy nerds Amy and Christey.

My darling sister Sammy, who drove 5 hours from the country to see me. and lovely Katie, with the other Sam, our molecular geneticist/dancer, busting out a little Aga-Doo in the back.

Something happened onstage. Lucy and I weren't sure what it was.

Monday morning we were feeling just a little delicate.

I trundled my little suitcase through the city, got on the train and went back home, where Ivy showed me the only use she had for shimmery body-glow.

Re-acquainted me with my other friends Murray Wiggle and Big Girl Kangaroo.

And showed me the only person getting tramp-stamped in this family was Teddy.

Thank you all for being the greatest girlfriends I could ask for, and rest assured that I can never get married again - I couldn't make it through another hens weekend. Five weeks to go - bring on the wedding!


  1. I didn't realise it was YOUR hens do! sounds like it was just what the doctor ordered- some girly fun!

  2. Totally deserving Rach. If I'd had the cash I'd have flown in for this one. Hens nights and first b'days are the best.
    MWAH party girl

  3. What a grat post, from start to finish - I really felt like I was there with you!

  4. Um... I believe what happened onstage was HOTNESS.
    Any doctor should be able to tell you that.
    Well, any sober doctor.

    Wish I could've made it! Except for the karaoke, of course - the shyness, see.


Thanks for talking to me. I don't got cooties. Oh, except for when I got cooties.