Whooops
I accidentally on purpose forgot something.
Actually it was more probably a case of my subconscious trying to look after me ... my the Fat Bastard's been tapped up and come home with a reminder that I'm expected at a Hen Night tonight. The 'Girls' from work are doing a Pub Crawl of town (I think that means 9 pubs). Notwithstanding the fact that I'm supposed to be working tomorrow, actually scratch that I am working tomorrow but moreover expected to be functional, I clearly am not going to be able to stay the course.
Now it turns out I need to rendezvous with the (what is the collective noun for hens?) lot of them at around 8:00pm in order not to miss them at the rendezvous point. But the serious business of getting pissed as a [what ever the collective noun for newts is] whole lot of pissed things.
Christ Almighty, this is going to be a couple of the longest hours of my life and I've spent some very, very long hours in the company of the Fat Bastard.
In this part of the country a girl doesn't give herself the quick once over to make sure her jeans aren't too stained or ripped (or smelly?) and pull on a clean shirt. She takes hours over selecting the right items from her capacious wardrobe, ensuring that the whole thing adds up to a co-ordinated ensemble. Then she puts in another few hours work on hair/make-up etc.
It's after quarter to 5 in the afternoon now and I be most of them have been agonising and primping for hours. I suppose I should get in the bath.
I've got a couple of clean pairs of jeans somewhere. I suppose I could find a warm and presentable top to go with them. I have a high-heeled pair of boots that are not yet ready to be thrown away. There's some slap in the bathroom cupboard that might be past its sell by date but is probably serviceable.
That's me sorted then.
If I'm not a total gibbering wreck after this I'll come back and explain just how ghastly it all was. This is my very first Hen Night by the way; and I think that's damned fine going.
Actually it was more probably a case of my subconscious trying to look after me ... my the Fat Bastard's been tapped up and come home with a reminder that I'm expected at a Hen Night tonight. The 'Girls' from work are doing a Pub Crawl of town (I think that means 9 pubs). Notwithstanding the fact that I'm supposed to be working tomorrow, actually scratch that I am working tomorrow but moreover expected to be functional, I clearly am not going to be able to stay the course.
Now it turns out I need to rendezvous with the (what is the collective noun for hens?) lot of them at around 8:00pm in order not to miss them at the rendezvous point. But the serious business of getting pissed as a [what ever the collective noun for newts is] whole lot of pissed things.
Christ Almighty, this is going to be a couple of the longest hours of my life and I've spent some very, very long hours in the company of the Fat Bastard.
In this part of the country a girl doesn't give herself the quick once over to make sure her jeans aren't too stained or ripped (or smelly?) and pull on a clean shirt. She takes hours over selecting the right items from her capacious wardrobe, ensuring that the whole thing adds up to a co-ordinated ensemble. Then she puts in another few hours work on hair/make-up etc.
It's after quarter to 5 in the afternoon now and I be most of them have been agonising and primping for hours. I suppose I should get in the bath.
I've got a couple of clean pairs of jeans somewhere. I suppose I could find a warm and presentable top to go with them. I have a high-heeled pair of boots that are not yet ready to be thrown away. There's some slap in the bathroom cupboard that might be past its sell by date but is probably serviceable.
That's me sorted then.
If I'm not a total gibbering wreck after this I'll come back and explain just how ghastly it all was. This is my very first Hen Night by the way; and I think that's damned fine going.
posted by Enyo @ 4:30 pm
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