Wednesday, March 20, 2013

the pre-nuptial parties

So it's the Brit's stag do this weekend.

Beware West Devon. Twenty five lively, British lads are headed your way.

I've decided to approach my fiance's bachelor's like this:
1) mostly blissful ignorance
2) that's it

I know roughly where they're going in case I get a call at 4:00am from a hospital (touch wood, god forbid and all that).
I know how many there are (25. Good luck getting into any clubs, chaps), and I've been told that there'll be some activity (go-karting) that punctuates the epic boozing.

This is exactly what's going to happen. In fact, I suspect a member of his party might've authored this.

I've only asked that the Brit come back in one piece (no tattoos, or shaven eyebrows, and definitely all his limbs should be intact.)

In return I got, "We'll deliver him back to you Monday. He might be a dribbling retard with zero mental capacity, and extremely fragile; he may also take a week to recover, but don't worry, he's in good hands."

"Great. Can't wait to nurse my alcohol-addled dribbling wreck of a fiance on Monday back to sane health then."

In the meantime, my pre-wedding celebrations actually start TONIGHT!

My lead up to be a Mrs involves a few smaller celebrations/nights out here in the UK with a handful of different folks, and then a proper hen do in Johannesburg on touch-down.

I am ridiculously excited for this Joburg extravaganza, whatever it might be. I have no idea what is planned or even how many people will be there. But if it involves my best mates, in the sun, having a laugh over lots of [alcohol], then I'll be delighted.

Even if they do dress me up like a penis. Or a giant vagina. (Personally, if we're honest, I think I'd actually enjoy that.)

My lady work friends are taking me out tonight to a place that serves caviar and free-flowing champagne. It's a Michelin star Russian diner, complete with a button that you press whenever you need a champagne refill.

Frankly, I should have one of these on my desk.

We're all dressing up [Read: wearing heels and dangly jewellery].
 Going to get frightfully drunk - something I haven't been in a good long while if I'm honest - and crawl into work with a hangover tomorrow.
Bloody marvellous.

On Saturday, my guy work friends have organised a night out on the town, which is, literally, totally radical. I am a girl who gets along well with guys. In some ways, I get on better with dudes than I do with girls. They're just simpler, easier, less complex.

So. They've told me we're all going to wear red trousers (literally, my favourite) and go and sing karaoke in a Lucky Voice booth (literally, my favourite) and probably end an evening of debauchery with a giant kebab.

Oh the joy!

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