Trevor and I decided to head to a pub to watch the Rugby. But just before we could go, he claimed that I no longer had fashion sense and that he needed to make an intervention. (I guess this is the price of trying to live minimalistly – you end up looking like a hobo.) He lent me some of his clothes and accessories and even “customized” the shirt for my build. Admittedly, London fashion is very vogue but I still couldn’t help feeling like I was a supporting character in Priscilla Queen of the Desert and would attract the wrong demographic.
While at the pub, I texted a friend to see what she was up to. She said that she was going to a hen party at Reflex, a cheesy 80s themed club. The thing about me after a few drinks is I seem to lack any resemblance to a social filter. So when my friend said that she was going to a hen party, I simply assumed that I was invited as well. I replied that I would be there shortly. I in turned invited my friends who were with me at the pub. They looked at me strangely and one asked “Don’t you need to be a female to go to a hen party?” Although I had no experience attending hen parties before, I convinced them that there were definitely no restrictions based on genitalia. After much coaxing and more drinking, 2 of them agreed to join me. So off we went.
We turned up at the club and soon found the hen party. I immediately went to the group and apologized for being late. “Who are you?” someone asked. My friend explained that she had accidentally invited us. I instantly saw the cause of the confusion. Everyone seemed to have “Hen Party” sashes except for me. So I grabbed my friend’s sash and put it on, pleased with myself for validating my presence there. I should mention that at this point I had been heavily drinking for many hours although I have the alcohol tolerance of a 12-year old Asian schoolgirl after not eating all day and then spending an hour in a sauna.
Fortunately, most of the girls seemed amused by our presence there. Even the bride-to-be, whom at some stage in the night, I decided I was in love with and told her I was there to make an intervention. Meanwhile it looked like my friends were mistaken for dancing poles, which was an easy mistake to make, it being so dark in the club. Amidst the chaos though, I noticed another hen party there. I went up to them and eagerly announced “Hey small world, I’m on a hen party too!” pointing proudly to my sash. They didn’t seem as talkative as my friend’s hen party, so I returned back to the group shortly.
The rest of the night was a blur. Maybe there’s a reason why men aren’t normally invited to hen parties…