“$50 for ten Polaroid negatives. 12 packs needed. Was I really going to spend $600 on catching our mates in all their drunken glory at our wedding?” My pondering in the Canon Shop on Stanley Street was interrupted by a gentle tap on my shoulder, “Excuse me, we have met before?” I turned around and there was a young Latino chap, all dark eyes and black curly hair, blushing to the hilt of his boyish cheeks. “We have?”- My eyebrows must have communicated because he took a step backwards and said, “YOU know. On Saturday night? You naughty bunnies have to send me the photos,” and it all came flooding back.... my hen night.

“Of course!” I cried, giving him the requisite cheek to cheek, usually reserved for those one knows, or at least remembers. Chuckling with a nonchalant shrug of my shoulders — as if dressing up as a playboy bunny was a regular pastime of mine — we discussed his further gap year travel around China, me not quite being able to shake the feeling that despite my respectable office attire, he was really wondering where I’d hidden my bunny tail. To tell the truth, it’s not surprising I hadn’t immediately recognised Javier*, as on Saturday night we’d been bunnies viewing the world through red, green and orange gelatinous goggles — courtesy of Al’s Diner — and quite frankly, although he certainly showed promise as a future Don Juan, we’d been way more interested in his tightie-whities. But more about those later.

Years ago, I moaned to my bemused grandmother that the 21st birthday parties had started to peter out. “Soon there’ll be engagements to celebrate,” she consoled me, not noticing the horrified look on my 23-year-old face, “And weddings are the most fun of all!” A good six years on, I know she was right, but what she had failed to mention through sheer obliviousness, was what else I had to look forward to: those bastions of girl power, we-can-do-it-as-well-as-the-guys-can, last night of singledom celebrations — the hen nights, bachelorettes, hag do’s, call them what you will — anything but kitchen teas. And Hong Kong was to prove the perfect anti-coop for chicks on the loose.

My first experience of a Hong Kong hen night also proved — beyond doubt — that the days of brides-to-be sipping a cuppa while female friends dispensed marital advice and spatulas were over. With no tea towels in sight — only a scantily clad instructor grasping a pole in her right hand — I soon found myself rather adept at that mainstay of erotica — pole dancing. And when, after our champagne-fuelled lesson, we showed off our new-found skills on Klong’s handy poles, the appreciative crowd of pool players (who didn’t seem to mind if we were at times more Tarzan than Jane in terms of grace) had proven something else — why strip clubs exist.

Talking of stripping, it’s traditionally the bachelors that get the stereotypical performance, and while at the next hen do I attended, the g-string was on the other, um, bumm, the hen ended up outstripping the stripper! Tyson is perhaps the only cowboy in the history of getting-it-off to good-naturedly plonk his cute black derriere on the couch and watch the hen beat him at his own game.

Belly dancing followed junks followed Art Jam followed paint ball, as girls pulled out the stops to give their soon-to-be-wedded friends the time of their single lives, and finally it was my turn. The gauche 23-year-old was now a radiant 29-year-old bride-to-be. (Or so I hoped. I was spending enough on facials to fund a second honeymoon and had in fact given up an air-miles ticket to Tokyo — oh the shame, the vanity — in exchange for a pack of Elemis products). I’d been directed by my posse of playmates (oh how literal that was going to turn out to be) to meet them at the Happy Valley tram stop at 12pm — and to bring a pair of heels. For what — I would find out later. First there was a chilled afternoon of nattering at Ocean Park to enjoy. “Tame” you’re thinking? The hare-raising stuff was still to come...

Now any hen needs a fine set of feathers and what better place than Hong Kong — the queen of fancy dress attire — to provide them? I had recently mailed angel, ballerina and Dolly Parton outfits, purchased in ‘The Lanes’, overseas and was curious as to what my evening’s attire would be. A chambermaid or waitress? Too tacky. A nurse? Too revealing. Little did I know. By the end of the afternoon I was so relaxed that when presented with my outfit for the night — if a wisp of white satin and pink fluff teamed with white fish nets and bunny ears can be deemed an ‘outfit’ — I could only gape… and try it on. Thank God I had a pair of white shorts handy, and safety-pinned into said outfit, we flocked into town, a bundle of black bunnies and me — Bridal Bunny.

First stop was Dansinn Dance Studios in Sheung Wan where lovely Nickolai*, the young Russian dance instructor, with buns like two finely crafted Ben Wa balls, had been commissioned to teach us the Jive. As he mopped his brow (nervous sweating?) and helped us give a whole new meaning to ‘Jive Bunny’, his mantra became “I’ve never seen anything like this”. I don’t think the serious ballroom dancers in the adjoining mirrored studio had either.

Next for our brood were cocktails at Feather Boa where a round of ‘Mr and Mrs’ led to a forfeit for every one of my answers that didn’t match those my man had provided beforehand. Some of the forfeits were easy. Getting a man to buy me a drink? Done in the twitch of a tail. The last forfeit, however, involved getting a man to give me his underpants. Now that was going to be a challenge! Throughout the civilised dinner at Goccia and the not-so-civilised performance with the band in The Cavern that followed, I found myself scrutinizing the male clientele, trying to find a guy likely to help me complete my final forfeit . I’m charming, but not that charming and it was only when we reached Al’s Diner that I spotted a likely candidate. Javier seemed fascinated by 15 bunnies dancing on the tables, and while not alone in regards to his fascination, in regards to his underpants, his main concern was whether he’d get them back if he relinquished them. After promising to return the aformentioned undies, the next thing I knew he was dancing with me on the table, obviously enjoying hanging loose as he waved those white Y-fronts around like a freedom fighter would his flag.

As I saw myself home at the end of the night, I knew that my ears would be safe on the head of Insomnia’s lead singer and that I was lucky to have friends who’d made such an effort on my behalf. Not a peep was heard from this hen till late the next day and as for Javier? We finally sent him the photos and he’s no doubt still blushing back home in Brazil.

*Names have been changed to protect victims of bunny abuse.

Organising a hen and need some stellar ideas? Look no further.


Nice…

- ‘Dansinn Dance Studios’ offer a full range of dance classes with fantastic instructors, call them on (852) 2581 1551 / 2581 1553 or check out their website at www.dansinn.com

- To get T-shirts printed for the hen and her posse, contact ‘Melanie & Cindy’ of the Lanes at 21 Li Yuen Street West. Tel: (852) 2501 4362 / 9429 6799 E-mail: melanie_Tshirt@yahoo.com.hk

- Got a hen who’s eaten in every restaurant Hong Kong has to offer and a mate with a snazzy pad? Let Stefan of ‘Dine at Home’ prepare a feast fit for a queen with butlers and all. Tel: (852) 2813 7707 / 9107 7744 Email: stefan@dine-athome.com Website: www.dine-athome.com

- For active hens with some aggression to work out (organising a wedding can be stressful after all) contact ‘Paintball Headquarters’ on (852) 3106 0220 or email tommy@paintballun.com.hk

- Everyone loves junking so book a boat with ‘Jaspas Party Junks’ on (852) 2792 6001.

- Get creative with ‘Art Jam’ — could they organise a hunk of nude masculinity to pose perhaps? I dare you to ask! Contact ‘Art Jam’ on (852) 2541 8816 or ‘Chameleon Workshop’ on (852) 2527 2251.

Naughty....

- Unleash your inhibitions and contact ‘Pole Divas’ for a one-off hen night class or even regular lessons. It’s a great work out. Tel: (852) 2541 5157 Website: www.poledivas-hk.com

- Discover the goddess within the hen with a spot of belly-dancing — check out ‘Oasis Dance Centre’ in Wanchai at www.oasis-dance-centre.com

- For a male stripper with a sense of humour as well as a rock-solid bod, contact Tyson on tysonhk@gmail.com Arriving with flowers and champers is just the start… ($3,000 for around 30 minutes)

Share