All right ladies (and gent), if possible, get up of off your chair and dance along (you can dance while reading?)
I have told my husband that I'd be thinner if we danced more. I used to effortlessly travel between a size 5 and 7 and was a HUGE size 8 when I got married, but marriage came and the dancing ended. Now I can't get one thigh into a size 7. I'm ok with that, because for some odd reason, so is my husband. But what I will have to insist on is that I have stamina. I want to play in my 80s and dance in my 90s.
Still up moving?
Anyway, forget what I said about what I would be blogging-- there's still tomorrow to do that blog I've wanted to do since last week-- I went to my very first (and probably last) Hen Party. What a hoot, it was a real quack up! sooo lame, I know.
In the States, we have the semi-equivalent in bachelorette parties. I have attended a few of those, but the British people certainly have a way of celebrating.
Our first introduction to the way parties are thrown here was when A1 was invited to a birthday party that didn't start until 6 pm. He was 6-- a 6 p.m. party? The invitation said "6 p.m. WI Hall". I actually took the invitation in to the Head Teacher at his school and asked if he could help.
"Whats' a WI Hall, and where do I find it?" and, "There's not enough numbers for the phone to RSVP, how do I dial this?" Sweet man that he is, was happy A1 had already been invited to something and clued me in on where I would find it.
On the night of the party, I left our house a little grumpily. It had taken forever to pick out a gift for this little girl I knew NOTHING about and had to pay a fortune for (remember, we earn dollars and pay pounds-- so double. A $15.00 gift runs me $30.00).
Because you may have never traveled outside of the States before (yet), there are some things you may take for granted. You know that if your kid is invited to a Chucky Cheese party, you're not going to send your little sweetie in a white, ruffled dress. I had NO idea what my kid should be wearing here, and worse, we were out at night on our little country road.
As I pulled up to the village W.I. hall (the Women's Institute Hall, a gathering place kind of like a town hall that you can rent for functions), imagine my surprise to hear disco music blaring out the open doors and enough people coming in and out the doors to rival Walmart on Black Friday.
As we approached, I was thinking, "oh, no, my poor little shy A1! He's going to roll up like a potato bug". When we got inside, our eyes were assaulted by the colourful flashing lights, while bubbles shot endlessly from the bubble blower next to the DJ.
Yes, you heard me. There was a full-on party DJ, leading the kids onto the dance floor.
The room was framed by tables lined with sausage rolls, mini sandwiches, crisps, drinks, pastries, candies... cousin Dudley's heaven.
I was gobsmacked (your British term for the week). I asked the closest thing I could find to the hostess (a teenager--sister to the party girl), "Do you want the parents to stay, or do we go?" "oh, um... you can stay if you want, but you don't have to...um, unless you want to..." (teenagers are the same everywhere in the world, accent or not).
I looked down at my precious little wall-flower and asked him, "Honey, do you want me to stay with you?" as he was wondering away, hand in hand with a mate from school, barely able to force himself to look back at me long enough to say, "you can go".
I went home in shock and told my husband, "we've been doing this birthday party thing all wrong, and with 5 kids, we're in big trouble!"
So, when invited to this Hen party, for my friend who is nearly my age (thus the feeling I won't be invited to many more). I was anxious and scared all at the same time. What to wear?!!
The ladies here aren't conventional. You will see a forty-year old woman with purple hair as easily as a 20-year old. The blingy-er you can get, the more you blend. Women come to queue up at the school in 3-inch heels and clothes with fur or feathers. But the best part, and I hope to blog more on this, is the attitude of the senior citizens here. No walkers for these folks, they walk everywhere, go on hiking holidays and attend things like I went to last night.
Anyway, after an interesting pre-party male dancer (sorry, those pictures are for the Bride only) we had a three-course meal
and danced to a Madness tribute band (I'm giving you the mini-version)
until 2 am.
I didn't have a heart attack, so that was the bonus of the evening.
I did realize that I need to dance more, and if it means dancing to Disney around the house, so be it. I want to be the little 80-something year-old lady I saw boogying the night away with her husband-- the one who limped his way to the dance floor and then shook his groove thing like he was in his 30s.
Dance on people, let's live long enough and healthily enough to embarrass our children well into their middle ages!
