Last night I was invited to Kim's for a Girls Night In. As she lives on a large property just outside the village, four of us convened at Jeanette's house first. Superbly, this offered another opportunity to wear my mink coat. Not to be outdone, Jeanette had also jumped on the fur bandwagon, raided her wardrobe and found a stunning mink-alike coat. Mahri, on the other hand, arrived bare-legged in six inch stiletto heels.
Out came a bottle of Bailey's and cherry brandy liqueur chocolates to start off the evening. Jeanette passed around boxes filled with Christmas decorations for us to adorn her enormous tree which fills her dining room window from floor to ceiling. As we tanked up with festive cheer, the four of us found various trinkets, baubles and bells to hang from its branches.
Warmed inside, we set off, Mahri teetering up the lane on her heels with me by her side in sensible rubber soled Ugg boots. One moment we were chatting and the next I was flat on my back, having slipped on black ice. Thankfully the landing was softened by my mink coat, and I was still holding aloft a platter of sandwiches and bottle of wine. Mahri then sensibly replaced her stilettos with flat pumps for driving.
When we arrived Jean was already there decked out in her fur coat and Kim, not to be left out, went to find her mother's magnificent white mink coat which whilst gorgeous, did look a trifle odd being worn indoors. To complete this picture of glamour, Kim dug out a 1980's ABBA style long blonde wig which, hilariously, everyone tried on and photos were taken (which may or may not be reproduced here, depending on whether the author deems them fit for publication). Actually, I thought I looked rather fetching.
If I had thought Jeanette's Christmas tree was large, it was nothing compared to Kim's which would not have been out of place in a large church or shopping arcade. Like Jeanette, her home was filled with more than enough decorations to stock a Christmas shop and the dining room table was laden with food, which was soon demolished by the gathered dozen or so women, to Cliff Richard singing Christmas songs in the background.
Then Jean declared it was time to play Pass the Bomb. Interestingly, this caused several of the gathered to collect their fur coats and slip off into the night. The rest of us refilled our glasses (again) and were taught the rules of Pass the Bomb. This required us to sit in circle and to the accompaniment of a ticking bomb make up words from letters printed on cards and then pass the bomb to the next person before it went off. Something like this:
Kim, holding the bomb: "I have rolled the dice and it says Tick, which means the letters cannot be used at the end of a word."
Jean uncovers the top card. It says "MEN".
Kim: "Er, er. Oh ... I can't think of anything..."
Jean: "Start the bomb!"
Kim, stalling for time: "Um ....um ..... yes!" She finally starts the bomb. It is ticking away.
Kim: "Mental." Phew. She passes the bomb to the next person.
Jeanette: "Menopause" ... bomb passes on ....
Rhoda: "Ahhhhhhhh .... cement"
Jean: "Tempermental."
Mahri: "Amen" ... passes bomb ....
All: "No, no, can't be at the END of the word." Bomb passes back to Mahri.
Mahri (confused): "Och, err, oh goodness, I canna think of anything." Loud alarm. The Bomb goes off!! Mahri loses the round and picks up the card.
Now you might think this sounds like a very easy game. You would be right, of course, but after many glasses of nectar, normally sharp minds dissolved into jelly. The Biggest Loser is the person left holding the most cards. After twelve rounds, Kim finished having blown herself up seven times. Ouch.
Finally, we nestled into our fur coats. Mahri, Cinderella-like, took off her party shoes and went back to her sensible pumps and we headed home sometime in the early morning. It's Quiz Night tomorrow so our tired brains need some sleep to ensure our Ladies team acquits itself admirably. I have offered to be on the team to answer all the Australian questions.
"But you didna know the answers to any of the Australian questions at the last quiz night," said Jeanette, reminding me that when asked about the number of players on an Aussie Rules team, I had been woefully ignorant.
Nothing wrong with her memory, I thought.
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