ORGANISING a hen weekend has forced a woman to become everything she has always despised.
Nikki Hollis, once a fun-loving free spirit, has come to be the kind of person who sends passive-aggressive WhatsApps about spa day deposits to a group titled ‘HenDangered Species’.
She said: “Every hen party I’ve ever attended has been organised by a so-called friend of the bride who would fit right in leading a Gestapo unit or a Girl Guide troop.
“I swore I’d be different. Then before I know it I’m sending nine follow-up texts to some waffling cow who’s taken a fortnight to decide whether she’ll want chips or mash with her sea bass two months from now.
“From there, it’s a slippery slope to publicly humiliating those who still haven’t voted on whether to go zorbing or extreme knitting after the nipple tassle workshop, while batting away imbecile ideas like hiring a stripper for our remote Welsh cottage.
“I’m catering to 19 different budgets, one woman wants to bring her husband ‘because we don’t get away much’ and I’m negotiating a refund on penis balloons because the testicles were triggeringly realistic.”
Bride-to-be Sophie Rodriguez said: “The whole purpose of a hen do is to drive a wedge between the bride and her best friend. That way once she’s married she’s got nowhere to run.”
