Irish women are not exactly known for being shy and retiring, but throw a wedding into the mix and the frenzy factor ramps up to ninety … especially when it comes to The Hen.
Add a night or two away and a dash of Prosecco (the cause of and solution to most female problems), and you’ve got yourself an explosive concoction that will, by design, blow the actual doors off any unsuspecting country pub you land in.
Whether you’re the ‘whoop it up’ kind of bride or not, the best thing to do is put on your big girl knickers and dive in head first. It is, after all, your last chance to drink cava from a straw shaped like a willy.
Here’s what to expect:
The Planning
If you have shrewdly nominated the organisational genius in your ranks, it’s now The Hen Planner’s only objective in life to throw you the world’s best Hen, so well done there. If, on the other hand, you have left it up to a handful of your most emotional and headstrong lady friends to duke it out amongst themselves, you are in for quite the ride. Expect bickering over spa prices and activities, email drama, outrageous outbursts (theirs) and wine-induced mascara-stained tears (yours). Rest assured that it will all work out in the end and any arguments and insults will have been resolved and forgiven before the wedding. Probably.
The Build-Up
After months of planning and saving and buying budget bras instead of real bras (#hardship), for the bride, the wedding begins with The Hen. The wine glass emojis will be coming thick and fast via every available medium for a week beforehand. The excitement is at fever pitch. The girls have organised babysitters and lifts and spray tans and blow-drys and penis paraphernalia. There’s even an electric breast pump in the mix. It’s go time.
The Accessories
When it comes to ‘L’ plates and pink sashes and whistles and hairbands with veils stuck on them, I’ve learned this: the more you protest, the more likely you are to end up wearing one. After being accosted by my best friend on the forecourt of a petrol station, I agreed to wear the sash and pink fluffy hairband in the car on the way to the hen. 15 selfies later, we drove off. With the petrol cap on the roof of the car. The man who knocked on the window to let us know was not amused. Class act.
The Rendezvous
When you arrive at your meet-up spot, take a good look around you. This is the last you’ll see of the immaculately put-together ladies toting neat wheelie suitcases and sipping mimosas over brunch. Enjoy the clinking glasses and the low-key giggling until the arrival of The Bus. This is where the magic happens.
The Bus
An Irish Hen will inevitably involve a bus. For reasons unknown, boarding a bus transforms a generally classy bunch of adult women into a raunchy gaggle of hard-core and grabby Chippendales fans. Scientists believe it’s something to do with the intermingling of hormones and hairspray and Coco Mademoiselle in close quarters. This brings us to another Irish phenomenon, the Disco Bus.
Know this: a journey on a disco bus only ends one way: in a heap on Eyre Square with a throw-up stop on the motorway in between.
The Games
The rule here seems to be ‘the cruder and ruder the better’. Try to avoid games that involve touching strangers inappropriately and anything remotely illegal. *Pinching strangers’ bums, while amusing, is technically illegal*. Hen games are all the work of the same drunk ex-Brownies leader; there may be props (10 pairs of tights, three large oranges… an unexplained oven glove). All will be revealed.
The Stripper
With any luck at all you’ll avoid this one. If not, sit tight as Limerick’s answer to Magic Mike (XXS) arrives to gyrate his, er, package, dangerously close to your face until your bridesmaids pass out from laughing. Thankfully my own delicate constitution wasn’t subjected to such vulgar carry-on. Until later…
The Activity
This is usually something nobody wants to do. Like kayaking in November. Or salsa dancing in Macroom. Somehow though, The Activity almost always becomes a highlight. For instance, when else was I going to get the opportunity to sketch a portly gentleman called Mick who (side note) was as naked as the day he was born, while drinking wine with my closest mates, my mother and mother-in-law? Magical.
The Dinner
If you’re of a respectable nature, make sure you’re too drunk to notice the serious side-eye your group will be catching from fellow restaurant diners as you descend on your table in a flurry of cackling and hair extensions.
The Mr & Mrs Quiz
If answering questions about your betrothed’s favourite sexual position while enjoying dinner with the woman who gave birth to him sounds like your idea of a good time, boy are you in for a treat! Then there’s the legend of the hen party where the bride couldn’t correctly answer any general knowledge questions about her husband-to-be and spent the rest of the night doing an ugly cry and doubting her impending marriage. Fun!
The Dance Floor
Come midnight, the miniature class reunion and 14 shots of something green that tastes like apples and Calpol will ensure you hit the dance floor like the drunken spawn of Salt ‘n’ Peppa and Michael Jackson. It’s remarkable how fast your “moves” come back to you when you’re surrounded by people you once drank cider in a bush with. And how much you’ll feel like you’ve improved over the years. And how much you won’t have improved at all.
The Chipper
Leave your dignity at the door. At a time when you are probably at the top of your dieting game, this could potentially be the most enjoyable (and shameful) part of the evening. The trick is to try and limit your consumption to one little box. If you load them in carefully, one on top of the other, taco fries, a slice of pizza, a portion of garlic mayo, a battered sausage and a bacon double cheeseburger fit in one little box.
The Morning-After
Along with a hangover, an unexplained knee scrape, half a feather boa and a destroyed pair of nude pumps, expect to have a serious case of the giggles that will worsen throughout the day, an unbelievably powerful craving for sausage rolls and a photo of you posing provocatively next to a statue of Michael Collins.
Once The Fear subsides and you put yourself back together (allow one week) the best thing is it’s almost time to do it all again… at THE WEDDING!
