Part 11-poor Pamela!

Okay, so you know I mentioned once or twice over the last few weeks how much I HATE hen-parties?
Well, I wish I was about to tell you that I've totally changed my opinion...but I'm not!

I was so certain all week that I was just going to 'drop out' of Pamela's hen party proceeding's at the very last minute, but after she roped me in to collect the costumes I felt unable to let her down. My 'guilty' button-something I've suffered with since childhood-is still very much switched to 'ON' and I am inherently unable to upset people or have them dislike me!

Besides, how bad would it have been if all of the girls had turned up in the tackiest bar in town, wearing only fishnets and pink leotards with no bunny ears and tails to finish the outfits? It would have been a catastrophe, that's what! But perhaps no worse than how things actually turned out....

The plan was that all of us hens would arrive at the bar early, dressed in afore-mentioned attire, and I would dish out the ears and tails so that we would be ready when Pamela and her sister Patricia arrived, a little later. And then we'd all dress Pam up like Jessica Rabbit, in a red PVC dress and wig, and the red bunny ears I'd also collected-the usual hen-night 'shenanigans'.

A good theme, you might think. And these things are all about the theme, aren't they?
Except that the PVC dress turned out to be a size or three too small for Pam and it took no less than 47 minutes, half a tonne of talcum powder (haven't a clue where that appeared from-the 80's perhaps?) and some excruciatingly embarrassing positions, to get the bride-to-be into costume!

Poor Pam!

Not that getting to a bar in town at such an early hour on a Saturday evening wearing nothing more than our underwear had been much of a laugh for the rest of us!

Though I had sworn to myself that I'd steer away from the bad alcohol (slammers, shots, cocktails, fish bowls) in order to keep both my mouth and my emotions in check, it wasn't long before I found myself included in a round of tequila slammers, followed by a round of Sambuca's! This wasn't the time or place to abstain from getting drunk, I quickly decided.

In fact, standing in the tackiest bar in town, wearing only tights and pink ears, surrounded by a group of twenty women who I could say I knew in varying degrees from 'fairly well' to 'not at all', and who could talk about nothing but marriage and weddings, I honestly couldn't think of a better time to be drunk!

By the time I'd started sipping the fourth cocktail on the menu (I was working my way through it one by one) the 'Mr. & Mrs.' quiz was over and the stripper had arrived.

Poor Pamela!

Either her sister (who'd made the booking) had a cruel sense of humour, or there had been some kind of mix-up, because instead of the Brad Pitt look-alike we'd all been promised, we were faced with a WOMAN! And not a very attractive one at that! She was in her mid-to-late 50's and considerably over-weight!

'Sorry girls' the stripper-or 'sexy Silvia' as we later found out she was called -apologised, as she began her routine. 'There's been a cock-up with our bookings I think. I'm supposed to be doing a stag party for a second wedding tonight! I was booked by the bride.'

Yes, I could see why.

Don't ask me why she went on to perform her routine, but she did! And poor Pam's face said it all! Gutted! She was having an awful night. She certainly didn't appear to enjoy having Silvia bend her over and spank her buttocks with a cane!
I dread to think how the stag's took the arrival of our 'Brad'!

As a result we all got more and more drunk...and missed our booking for dinner!

Then, after several more shots which included an 'orgasm' and the dreaded 'slippery nipple' Pamela began to talk loudly about how much she loved her 'wonderful' fiance Colin, and how she couldn't wait to get married. I suddenly felt very nauseous and scarily, a bit weepy! Must keep mouth shut and say nothing...repeat after me.

But before I had a chance to say anything, another of Pamela's equally drunken friends piped up with this bombshell:

'You're not the only one...I love him too!'

Everyone in our large group fell silent. Ooops! Someone else who'd had more than one tequila too many it would seem! Turns out the friend has been having a bit of a fling with the groom-to-be, and we were treated to the gory details as Pamela blushed, then fumed, then ran away!

Poor Pamela!

The night was a total disaster but I went home feeling sad, yet strangely comforted by the fact that I am not the only mug in the world!

Even better, I am not the only mug in my office as it turns out...Is that cruel?