I am allergic to WhatsApp groups at the best of times. They have become a necessary evil in life. I choose to mute any I have been added to and check in now and again. The most recent was for a hen party. Does that make me a grouch? Perhaps.
The hen and stag parties are a big part of the ritual of getting married, as the good friends and relations of the bride and groom travel to a chosen destination to mark the end of this chapter of life.
I have been on all sorts of 'hen dos' - including the activity-filled one which involved zip lining in Carlingford - but let's face it, most of the hen dos I have been on have been boozy and have included anything from a boat trip and overnight stay in Aran Mór island, to a night in The Moy wearing sombreros and fake moustaches.
Strangely, there were two hen dos in Monaghan. The furthest afield I have travelled for a hen do was to England a couple of times. I spent two very enjoyable weekends in Bath and Somerset. There was one disco bus and one stripper. I hope to never have to re-live either experience.
Thankfully none of my friends went as far as planning a weekend in Spain for the hen do when that was the fashionable thing to do.
I didn't mind them until I stupidly and naively agreed to organise a hen do many moons ago. There were around 15 women on the hen and, let's just say, it was impossible to please everyone. Never again.
Organising the hen do is one of the most thankless tasks anyone could ever take on.
Expectations can be high, and it can be strange to bring a big group of people who don't know each other together, and hope for great craic.
When it works it is exactly that, but sometimes in situations of forced positivity, the opposite can happen. We have all experienced that.
A fancy dress theme usually applies. It did on Saturday as a group of Disney Princesses went for a dander in Belfast city centre.
A motley crew of Belles, Snow Whites, a Pocahontas, Merida, Maleficent and Mary Poppins, led by Cinderella, made cocktails and had an early afternoon sing song.
Everyone went to such a huge effort and looked amazing - except me.
Regular readers will know that I do not possess the 'fancy dress gene'. I admire those who can be bothered, who have the imagination to be very creative with their outfits, but it's not for me.
Truth be told, a part of me died when I read the dreaded words 'fancy dress theme' on the dreaded WhatsApp group message.
In a very lame effort to embrace my inner princess, I went to the hairdressers on Saturday morning for a blow dry. When I disclosed where I was going in response to, 'Are you doing anything nice today?', and further explained that I thought it might be enough to wear a tiara and wave a wand, I heard a communal gasp from everyone in the salon who was disgusted by my weak effort. One person warned me that I might never be invited to anything 'fun' ever again.
That's the point though, isn't it? 'Fun' is subjective.
The craic was great. It was fantastic to be out in town again, but this princess had to bow out before her carriage turned into a pumpkin, and she couped. That was just after dinner. I would love just a teaspoon of the stamina shown by the other princesses.
Some of them partied for two days. I was asleep well before midnight, and full recovery took a couple of days.
My cousin gets married later in the year, I might have to try and convince her to have a lunch instead of a dinner, if I am going to have any chance of staying awake and contributing in any way.
The irony in all of this is that I can feel it in my bones that I will have to embrace all types of Disney Princesses in the not too distant future. I have a two-year-old girl on my hands who already loves Elsa and Anna and 'Punzel'. She is only getting started.
