Hen Parties (aka Bachelorette), Louisville-style.

When David and I hopped a flight from Glasgow to Belfast last year, we noticed the rest of the plane was filled with groups of women. They were distinctly defined groups, separated by their different t-shirts. Some t-shirts were black tanks with sparkly silver lettering that read “Jane’s Hen Party 2011.” Others were pink tees saying “Belfast Hen Party for the Ross Sisters!” The girls were also all doing shots of something blue and giggling wildly before noon. “Hen Parties” are bachelorette parties done up right. And by right, I mean extravagant, crazy, and taken very seriously.

Were I in Scotland now, or were I in a sorority back in the day, I may have been forced to hire a pink Stretch-U-V and wear a Scavenger Hunt T-shirt. Thankfully, neither of those things happened, and my wonderful girlfriends rallied in a much more sedate manner.

I didn’t think I even wanted a Bachelorette Party. Then I just assumed — in an Eeyore sort of way — that no one would really be up for planning a night that didn’t involve fruity shots or lewd party favors. When David’s buddies decided they were whisking him to Nashville for the entire weekend for a Bachelor Party, I got a little sad, thinking I would just stay home alone cleaning out the basement all weekend. See, Eeyore, right?

My ladies rallied at the last minute, though, and put together a really nice evening. Would you believe it if I told you last night’s Bachelorette Party consisted of watermelon, croquet (I was red, duh), chocolate fondue, frozen drinking chocolate, cakes, and lots of Live Tweeting (hashtag #brigidfest or #bachelorettepartyquotes)? We drank some martinis, and we laughed a LOT.

Also, I won croquet, with my never-fail strategy of placing yourself in last place, only to hit every other ball on your way down the homestretch, gaining two extra hits with each strike. They didn’t know what hit them.

That, or they let me win. I have such good friends!