Of course, I am far too old for this but the trend for getting married a little later in life means I have been invited to a number of these celebrations at an age I should probably be sipping my Horlicks and listening to Radio4.
Instead I shall be cavorting, powered by cocktails, undergoing dares to the sounds of Europop while dressed as a sailor.
Though I attended a number of these while at an age where one is expected to drink pink drinks and dance like you just don’t care, it was the advent of a close friend’s wedding two years ago - and the accompanying hen do in Benidorm (of course) - that launched a new round of accelerated hen dos.
These are fuelled by the inevitable fact that all my soon to be hitched friends are now working professionals, much better off and more sophisticated with many being mothers who have escaped for the weekend (or week) determined to have a good time.
It all ends in a much wilder shindig with the benefits of higher quality alcohol, more luxurious accomodation and women with a higher tolerance for alcohol and more inspired themes for fancy dress and games.
This week I shall be dining with a private chef in company of lawyers, PR professionals and business leaders, all of whom will be wearing matching outfits, knocking back bubbles and - before you think this is overly sophisticated - being waited upon by butlers in the buff.
And if you think that Manchester is slightly tame as a venue I would point out this is hen do number two (the UK edition) as number one was in Majorca.
All the best dos, of course, are organised like a military operation.
You are told what to wear, hen dos and don’t and must go armed with anecdotes suitable for reducing the bride-to-be into a blushing heap.
But no matter how high powered, the essence of a hen do remains the the same.
Girls can, and will, go wild wearing feather boas.