not with hens, but kitties

Dearest ______,

We, women, are a complicated lot: we over- think almost everything, we don’t make friends with each other as easily as boys do, we are at some point (or once a month) overly sensitive and emotional, et cetera.

Despite these eccentricities though, there are just moments when I’m amazed at how much women can be, well, amazing. Case in point: my Hen’s Kitties’ Night Out. AKA the Bachelorette Party.

Irene and Bea “fetched” me at Starbucks. The night before this, Angel and Maan texted me to do some “Homework” and bring an overnight bag. And that’s all that they said.
I was so anxious when I met them, I was sweating coffee out of every pore.

As we entered the hotel room they’d booked, hot pink and black immediately met my eyes. So much attention had obviously gone into the room that being a self- appointed “party decorator” myself, I was really impressed and touched that other people would do all that for me.
They had freaking Hello Kitty bows on doughnuts. And polka dots on my bouquet wrapper. And my birth month’s official flowers, the Baby’s Breath.
God is really in the details.

There were hilarious games and even more hilarious stories downed with a copious amount of pizza and wine in that magically pink hotel room.

The amazing thing was that prior to this evening, some of them hadn’t even talked to each other in their lives. These were different women from different stages of my life. And yet there we were, giggling and laughing at each other as if we’d all shared dormitory rooms in some boarding school.

Even more amazing was how they’d put me into this bit of cloth in loud leopard prints, which I had to wear for the rest of the evening while gallivanting outside the hotel. Yes, in public, with the other ladies in white kitty ears, white kitty tails, and little pink bows.
Some remnants of that night’s drunken stupor (drunken for me, at least).

Despite the hangover and some unaccountable body pain, mental images cannot be forgotten:

Like when we all walked together, arm in arm, below some bridge at Clarke Quay where a street musician was playing a familiar tune with his guitar. And suddenly we all broke into song; were singing Wonderwall at the top of our lungs.

“I said maybeeeh, you’re gonna be the one that saves me (saves meeeh). And after aaall, you’re my wonderwaaall!!!”

Purrfect company, I’d say.
(Clockwise L-R)
– Curtis, who fancies herself the rock star, wearing fedoras and bright eye shadow on a regular basis
– Bixie the Pixie, who writes + sings the most beautiful songs and ties feathers on her hair
– Irene, who is hilarious like all moustaches and lovely as Victorian chintz… or Mulberry hand bags!
– Deon, who is as charming as she is wickedly funny (we bonded over the silliest things at the old job for a reason)
– Maan, who is infinitely more colorful and is sweeter than the colors Cyan Magenta and Yellow!
– Mayi, who wears a gazillion earrings in each ear and swims a gazzilion laps in the swimming pool with them on #likeaboss
– Angel the Queen Bee, who orchestrates awesome parties like this and dons shiny bling and bright red lips stick in the process



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Photography and text by Author unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved.

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