It really was not the time of year to be
parading around the streets in a pink tutu, if there was ever a time of year to
do so. Audrey could only be grateful that, because of the location, it
was a highly unlikely that she would bump into anyone she knew. There was
always the chance that she would be caught on one of the hundreds of snaps that
the girls kept taking on their phones and a photo of her to be beamed around
the world on social media. She cringed as she thought of the risk of
being spotted by family, friends or colleagues.
For the umpteenth time, Audrey asked
herself why on earth she had decided to attend a hen party wearing an
outrageous outfit which left little to the imagination. She approached the
group of giddy girls and was handed a pink sash with the wording
Traceys Hen Party in black. Nobody had enquired about
her relationship to the bride-to-be.
At least she didnt appear to be
the oldest. The Hens mother and aunties had come along, but they
seemed to have no problem in entering into the spirit of things.
Revelling was the word that came to mind. Audrey didnt consider
herself to be a killjoy but the party had already called into a bar for neon
coloured cocktails and a chip shop, and now they were on their way to the next
venue. It wasnt even seven thirty, so it was going to be a long
night judging by the number of neon signs advertising karaoke and kebabs.
She hoped that her exploits would be
worth it. What does a feature writer have to do to research an article these
days? She dreaded what her editor had lined up for next months