The Monday Muse. Stuffed Hen.

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Stuffed Hen.

I have reached the age where weddings and babies are a common occurrence amongst my friends, and so for the second time this year I find myself organising a ‘hen do’.

Whilst emailing prospective ‘hens’ my brain started to whirl and wonder, why the hell am I referred to as a ‘hen’?

The groom and his boisterous group of roisterers get to be called stags.

It made me think.

I want to be a sodding stag. A stag makes a great first impression. A stag is powerful. It’s proud. It’s got integrity, it’s got poise and it demands respect.

But as I paused for thought I asked myself, what is the point in lusting after unoriginality? Why set my sights on what the men have got?

So I have decided to go one better. I’m going with something magical, something mystifying, something that’s got grace and vigour by the bucketload, but is also shrouded in a superhuman, supernatural strength that no one can ever quite put their finger on.

When I get married, I’m having a fricking Unicorn Do.

 

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Much like my Monday pondering, The Daily Post is asking what sparks our ideas this week. This post was inspired by my whirring brain and a couple of the many eclectic treasures I have hidden around my home.

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Day 83.

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As a little person I was always rather jealous of my parents and their piles of post from the man in the red jacket, and it was with covetous hands that I would forage the pile in hope of seeing my name. Nowadays, a dose of adult realisation has taught me that the post is not so sensational, unless you receive the most wonderful of postbox surprises… a nuptial summons from a pair of fellow mad hatters that I know are going to wed amidst one hell of a party. I’m so excited it took me forever to be sensical. #100happydays #day83